The One Eared Neko
by Kaitsurinu
Summary: It's a time of high tensions and paranoia for mankind, and an aimless one for Heero Yuy. While trying to remedy the sense of something missing in his routine life, he suddenly decides to study a suspicious con artist, Duo Maxwell, on his paper on humanity
1. Part 1 THE REALITY OF THE SITUATION

**First Things First: **Author's Notes

[For those of you worrying about my other updates, don't worry. Parts 1 - 18 are already written.}

This story was born January 4th, 2004, and I raised it carefully to be entered in the One True Pairing {OTP} Novella Contest sponsered by So far, this little expedition of Heero's has taken more than seven months to document, and no, I was not able to finish it in time to enter it in the sole reason it had been concieved. Mostly because this is the longest damned thing I've ever written, and beyond that, it started taking on a life of it's own and grew even larger. You see, the contest's minimum amount of words is 25,000, and now I'm about 70,000 words in, and there's still much more to be written. I might have been able to meet the deadline, but I got so attached to the story that I felt I couldn't do the story justice in the time I had to finish it if I wanted to enter. So I let the deadline go, and now I'm free to make an unabridged version. Another warning, though; there is one very moody Duo Maxwell in this one, though not like you would normally expect when I would write a 'moody Duo'. And a physically passive and more relenting Heero than most are used to seeing. In this fiction, he has had absolutely no exposure to military training or war in the traditional Gundam Wing sense, so I went ahead and made him a little more indecisive, a little shy, and passive-agressive, like I thought he might be if he were just another youth trying to discover a place in the world for himself. I only hope you'll enjoy yourself reading it.

::Summary:: It's a time of high tensions and paranoia for mankind, and an aimless one for Heero Yuy. While trying to remedy the sense of something missing in his routine life, he suddenly decides to study a suspicious and rather notorious con artist, Duo Maxwell, on his paper on humanity.

::[Another] Warning:: Gratuitous use of the word 'bohemian.' --;

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The One-Eared Neko

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Part 1 THE REALITY OF THE SITUATION

As the last bell of the year rang out above his head, there was a moment of hesitation before the collage class stood from their seats around the various tables and began to file out. With good biddings exchanged, phone numbers and displays of affection slipped between bright-eyed couples, and papers stacked and organized to be forgotten, they were ready to leave this place. It was the middle of an especially balmy July and the beginning of the long-awaited Peace Commemoration holidays. They chatted boisterously within the echoing white washed walls as they slipped their thesis requisite sheets in books and hurried out. The stream of students left the doorway and split and scattered into the open air like lines of anxious ants.

Heero Yuy remained apart from the rest of his peers, though, standing beneath the expansive shade of an old tree in the center of campus. In his hands he held the requisite sheet on the short thesis to be due over the Peacetime vacation. Humanity. A vague enough subject, he thought, glancing down the lines of print. Broad enough, with opportunities to expand.' He arched a lip at it.

When he left the campus and committed himself to a twisting beeline through the traffic and crowded business streets, the sun had just peaked above a low roll of clouds, beating down on the back of his neck. The Japanese boy never had difficulty with the naturally hot and humid conditions and often wore loose dress shirts and tank tops to the campus and along the route he traveled after classes had ended. A regular, beaten path. There was no doubt in his mind of where he'd go. Once he crossed the busy intersection that centered the large, mostly business-dominated city, he would travel along the sidewalk of Main Street for two blocks weaving through many other students and working citizens. At the junction of Netherland Drive and Main, he would turn right through a series of smaller, one-level businesses. People would flow back and forth through the opening and closing doors, their shopping bags and young children in tow behind them. A few blocks later he would be traveling through the colorful and colorfully loud farmer markets, littered with hundreds of stands and open-air shops steaming and ringing the with the clashing of cooking-ware. He didn't like cars anyway, and the exercise and scenery made up for any discomfort he had walking.

He'd often stop near the small yellow wooden stand on the fringe of the market and on the corner of his apartment. As usual, he would smile graciously if not noncommittally at the small Puerto Rican woman and ask for his usual assortment of fresh fruit and vegetables. She would collect her 7.50 in currency and he would nod thankfully before moving on, all in relative silence. On shopping days, he would go home with six oranges, six apples, two packs of strawberries and celery, and a peach. But this day, he settled for just a single, perfectly ripened peach and waited until he had scaled the stairs and stepped inside his large studio apartment to eat it.

Being a man very conscious of his vegetarian preference, Heero would never even consider the idea of buying a supply of raw, pounded hamburger which would last him longer for a smaller cost than weekly or monthly purchasing a supply of fruits, vegetables, pastas, and tofu. But he felt he could afford it to feel at ease with the fact he didn't need to take life to sustain himself. After washing his freshly bought food in the sink and putting it all neatly away, he would walk across the expanse of undecorated, white-walled and wood paneled floors into his bedroom. He would change out of his school clothes and take another shower to relieve him from the heat of air-conditioning-challenged classrooms. Upon returning, he would dress in the clothes he laid out upon his bed and descend the five flights of stairs to head out to work.

By this time everyday the sun would be creeping closer to the low horizon, arching toward the jagged cut line of buildings set against the sky. And Heero would be entering the doors of the banking corporation for which he acted as a computer technician, in a traditional dress shirt and clean, business-savvy tie. There would be an equally predictable and familiar rhyme and rhythm through his workday, as he went about fixing abused computers and failed technical endeavors and rebooting overloaded servers. He would also answer calls from different branches, as he was seen as a natural savant of all things and a general good person to handle problems. He would clock out at the same moment every night, as the plain black hand of the clock would sweep down to half-past seven, and descend the flights in an empty and silent elevator. By that time, the sidewalks would be vacant and cooled, lined with the bright car lights going up and down the roads. He would perhaps detour, on the warmer nights, a block to the left to visit a local street musician who played John Lennon and the old Beatles songs on an old acoustic emblazoned with poetic lines by a black Sharpie. But even that moment of spontaneity' was always planned in advance and thoughtfully weighed against other options.

Yes, Heero Yuy seemed perfectly aware of his place in this world, perfectly in tune to the natural rhythm of work and life. He never tripped while traveling to work; he never fell behind in his schoolwork, never found himself even a hair out of place. There was a pristine plate of food on the table every night; a book lay faithfully beside his bed, and a steady rising with the morning sun every morning. He had money, a girlfriend, school, intelligence and a good-looking face. All those things automatically bought him a chunk of happiness.

But it was Hell. And there was no getting around that.

There was a time of rest for him after he had finished his plain and organic vegetarian dinner and before he would settle in for the night, committing himself to a chapter out of a book before he fell asleep. At that time every night, he would be out in the broad, undecorated living room on a black and white quilt with a lamp and the glittering white beads of city light against the black sky. Then he would routinely study his physics and advanced law studies with ease and boredom. And all the while, writing neatly on a legal pad and turning the pages in silence, he would loathe the ease and boredom that comprised his life. The simplicity that he thrived effortlessly within, but at the same time was rotting him from the inside out like a terminal disease without fail.

It had always been this way as far as he could recall, as far back as his memory went. Routine and wealth had dictated his early years with a pair of very affluent, but very private parents, always being shuttled around to different structured activities with no time for the thought of boredom to cross the young child's mind. He was immediately shipped to a boarding school as soon as he reached the appropriate age and became a young, structured genius student. Perhaps there was nothing truly astounding about his inborn intellect, but certainly he could absorb information faster than a computer, it seemed, and was generally sharp-witted and keen about the rest of the world. Best of all, in his teachers' eyes, he was loyal and straight as an arrow when it came the issue of rules. It was almost dangerous, the way he followed the straight and narrow path, almost like a wind-up doll. Only forward in a static straight line. He never missed assignments and never was caught harassing any other students, never causing trouble in general. No drugs, no sex, no corruptive rock and roll records. He was still perfectly behaved and unruffled when his parents suffered a terrible accident on a private plane and died in the crash. Unblinking.

The Yuy family also was good friends with another influential and financially fit family, the Peacecrafts. After his parents were killed on their way home from a business-funded vacation, the 14-year-old Heero was handed into the custody of his godparents, the Peacecrafts, as it was instructed in the will of his deceased mother and father. And even that didn't seem to shake the stony pillar of strength and rules that made up the quiet and almost mechanical young boy. He went to live with them at their Victorian estate on the upper West Coast with a simple black suitcase and schoolbag and uniform to his name. There he had a room beside the blonde Peacecraft daughter, Relena. It was obvious to him the first day of his arrival that she had more than a friendly liking toward him, but he simply didn't have her on his schedule and would brush her off as politely as he could. But it wasn't possible to sit in silence around her, refusing to acknowledge her presence, for long. The blonde was obviously coddled and spoiled out of love, and saw no reason why this boy shouldn't love her in return. But Heero saw reason otherwise, especially when she would go about their boarding school and profess it shamelessly and be at his side and on his arm without invitation.

She was kind and sweet and a strong human being beneath it all, though, and deeply concerned with the welfare of others. This overwhelming urge to help humanity came out strong during their high school years and slowly they became close friends, though Heero still wouldn't go so far as to call themselves a romantic couple. Relena was a good-hearted girl and never had done wrong against him. In fact, she'd been there beside his side for so long that she had been the only one he would tolerate as a friend. She was fine within the strict rules of his internal schedule. She never interfered with it, so he never rejected her. But there was still nothing in her cornflower blue eyes that caught his attention. Girls didn't fit in to Heero Yuy's plans anyway.

Heero graduated as valedictorian in his high school class without much effort, but also with very little social dealings. An occasional movie with Relena or school dance was as far as that field extended for him. After that, both applied for the same collage, with similar interests in law and politics, and slowly came to consider themselves a couple. It was only after much reminding on the girl's part that Heero even considered the words girlfriend and boyfriend as applicable to their relationship. It made sense, he thought to himself. He didn't mind her company, she was kind and kind on the eyes, and he saw no reason to destroy his only friendship by telling her otherwise.

Through the collage years, two of which Heero had already completed, they dated casually. Or at least, it was casual to him. A dinner plan there, luncheon here, a few informal parties, and a few weekends at the movies or out in a pretty, quaint oceanside town. Though the strange frivolity of it all pained him, he was faithful to his friendship with the blonde young woman and followed her without complaint. And when she came on to him asking for a sexual relationship, there wasn't an objection either. It simply didn't bother him as long as it stayed within the perimeters of his schedule, his plan for a simple, successful life.

In fact, she was part of the schedule, an integral part slowly incorporated over the years. He would finish collage top in his class soon and graduate with honors, find a steady, sensible job suited to his proficiency in law and politics, find a wife and get married, have children, and work to raise them to be successful and nurtured as well. It was simple. Relena would be at his side and everything would be simple and clean and unfettered with mistakes. It was all so very simple to comprehend.

Back then.

But now, it just didn't fit as well as it had. It was no longer a perfect suit, a tailored life, but a lingering sense of constant wandering with walls to trap him in. And it was darkening fast.

That Saturday night, the first of the Peace Commemoration holidays, he found himself once again delved from his peaceful night at home at the request of his girlfriend. Over the phone she had insisted that all the soldiers who had spent and forsaken their lives for war would want them to get out more, trying to humor him perhaps. Whatever the intent, Heero still didn't believe some sour shots at a smoky, flashy bar wasn't what the soldiers had sacrificed themselves for. But she was his girlfriend, after all. He did owe her some cooperation. So dutifully, he showered again and took the consideration to shave as well before getting casually dressed up to go out. He left his books on the floor, closed and stacked neatly, and smoothed out the wrinkles on the quilt he had sat on before leaving. He didn't expect to be gone long.

That black hole would catch up with him soon enough anyway.

It was one of Relena's favorites, a dim, sultry-colored bar with loud pop music forever on the speakers and plenty of seductive red candles along the wall. That's what the Japanese man occupied his time with, thinking about the fact that it was just a loud, popular fire hazard. If he were to tip the top candle in the diagonal row downward that he'd set off a chain reaction and likely burn the place to the ground. And the frightening idea of that situation was that he probably wouldn't care if he did. The air was throbbing, the voices clashed together in a deafening dim around him, and the room reeked of exotic flowers and flavors. Wonderful.

Heero sat in the corner of the booth while Relena and a collection of girlfriends and couples were seated around them and chatting drunkenly. While they reached regularly for the warm comfort of alcohol in margaritas and piña coladas, he would rest against the wall and just fold his arms.

Briefly, they talked of vacation plans and social happenings involving frequently mentioned names that Heero had never met, seen face-to-face, heard of, or had any desire to, but soon switched to a more appropriate topic for intoxicated youth. Once they covered all the filthiest blonde jokes, most giggling at Relena's expense, the song switched into a throbbing, awfully shallow techno beat and the girls at the table squealed. The booth emptied out in favor of the dance floor, beers close in hand. Of course, save for Heero. Not only did he hate to dance, but he was also thirty minutes asleep against the wall. The loud, rhythmic beats and warm, buzzing atmosphere paired with his boredom had lulled him off to sleep, arms still folded and head tilted against the wall.

He woke up when a very intoxicated Relena slapped at his leg with her purse. It wasn't hostile, and when he jerked awake and jarred his head against a candle stand in the process, she laughed uncontrollably. Her face contorted clumsily with alcohol. The blonde woman, in a velvet red dress, lay on her stomach on the booth seat and giggled furiously. It wasn't cute or funny or even just plain pathetic with the introduction of so much alcohol. It infuriated him, that's what. When her sweet and humanitarian nature left her, there was simply nothing tying her to him anymore. She was being a complete idiot. He would rather be alone than tarnish what he had left of a social life with a foolish drunk cackling and yanking on his arm.

So as his girlfriend and the group of friends still laughed, he simply picked up his jacket and left the dark place with the greatest pleasure he'd known for quite a while.


	2. Part 2 THE TRANSGRESSION

Part 2 THE TRANSGRESSION

Perhaps there was nothing left to discover in this world. That was one of the many conclusions that he came to about the general haze of birth, death, and the years between that constituted life. He'd done the things any normal human being usually did, and then some. He'd been blessed with a simple, wealthy, and healthy life and heritage, a smooth ride through school, and a girlfriend he had never had to chase for an instant. It should have been the best thing he could have ever thought of, but something in him was still twisted and unable to bend. Unable to believe that sort of wishy-washy reasoning. Perhaps he'd finally settled into some spot of bad karma he'd picked up somewhere and fallen into a slow, logical dementia. A mid-life crisis for a twenty-five-year-old man.

Although he risked presenting himself as a hypocrite, he turned to a bottle that night to begin to self-medicate this dementia. By no means was he an alcoholic or anything pathetic like that. It was just that the influence of beer seemed to help him find new things to philosophize about like any other human being. New ways to describe the slow disease he'd contracted by no fault of his own. Every human being drowned out their problems at least once in their life, anyway. He found a quiet, empty place with only the dim melody of country on the airwaves and a few men talking quietly in the back. There were more mouths in the glass than on the way to causing annoyance here. He had craved this quiet and he had craved a warm belly of beer to sugarcoat his dissatisfaction and discontent. And he had found it.

Heero sat down for a long, silent span of time. His jacket was under him while he sat on the barstool, his choice of beverage on a coaster in front of him, and packets of napkins and sugar in a bowl beside that.

He mused dimly on his life, finding only a large gap where he wanted to find answers to all the doubts that were living in him. But soon, he knew one of those answers. He wasn't helping himself by just sitting here. He glanced back and forth from the empty doorway to the empty booths and tables, then tiredly lifted his hand and grunted as the barkeep passed by. He ordered a goodbye shot, one which was fiery on the way down and must have been whiskey. And after that, once paid up, it was back to wandering for Heero Yuy.

It wasn't too cold to bear at least as he traveled the various streets with a little liquor under his belt. Not enough to cause him to stagger at all, but enough to create an effective influence. Places he'd normally hadn't give given the energy to think about suddenly seemed interesting enough to him that he stopped walking along his route and looked down the road. With little consideration, he found himself going silently through a circus ground, lit up festively in the dusky city night sky. It was in town for the Peace holidays only, a sign proclaimed on the fence. Strings of bare wire twisted with lights ran from every pole to every available tent, casting a cheesy atmosphere that was laughable. Funny, because he was a tad bit in blotto.

There were the usual guessing games with spots reserved for boisterous emcees and men with parlor tricks and rigged games in every color. He traveled through alone and unbothered, mostly because of the hour of night. Trash and food littered the ground. Tickets thrown to the wind scattered in the grass. Heero covered half of the grounds before he found much of a sign of human life. And of course, it wouldn't have been complete without a mystic gypsy tent. This is where he stopped and gave a snort of amusement.

From inside, he heard the fuzzy hum of a tape cassette playing bohemian tunes and a young man yawning. Also, cracking his knuckles very loudly. Perhaps the grounds had closed after all and in his haze he'd forgotten to notice it somehow.

Heero was about to stroll on, continue toward unknown places with feet light on alcohol, when the sound of girls talking and laughing came to his ears. Somewhere behind him, two distinct female voices were clamoring in his direction. And as he glanced momentarily back to perhaps pinpoint their location and be sure to avoid them, there was a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. Normally, it would have caught his attention and he would have noticed the man standing in the doorway of the gypsy tent looking at him curiously. But the warm, slow corruption of alcohol had dimmed his awareness, and he had spotted the two girls as well, focusing all his attention on them.

Just his luck, too. There was a very familiar blonde among them.

Meanwhile, the carnival employee hadn't moved. The young man glanced off in the direction of this stranger's blank stare, then back at the stranger himself and stood up fully. The fabric curtain slid off his hand and closed behind him.

"Hiya, traveler."

Heero turned finally, acknowledging that he was being spoken to. "Hmm?"

It was a young man about his age, standing there in full colorful bohemian costume. Plainly a drawback to his job, he wore the complete cheesy, flashy vest and white shirt embroidered with jewels, ears glittering with metal studs, a black bandana around his forehead to lift up his long bangs and another along the top of his head. He was roughly the same age as Heero, with a quickness to smile. Another carnival act? Perhaps so, or perhaps not. It really was hard to gauge properly with all that whiskey beneath his belt at the moment.

He leaned against the wooden frame hidden behind the fabric and folded his arms. The gold hoops and bracelets on his forearms rattled as he moved. "Everybody else is closed up. Sorry. If you want your fortune, you're going to have to come to me."

"It's no problem," he responded. "I wasn't planning on getting my fortune anytime soon."

The gypsy boy smiled effortlessly back. But it was strained. "That's too bad."

"Sure it is," Heero grunted. He looked briefly at the approaching blonde and her friend latched at her side and wondered how long it would take for their intoxicated eyes to recognize him.

The man dressed in the gypsy flamboyance moved back to the door without a sound of disappointment, more a sense of relaxation and night-weariness in the causal sigh he gave, and lifted the fabric curtain. Again, the metallic jewelry whispered as he moved. His voice was a casual baritone matched with a clean-cut face, giving the stranger one last friendly look as he left. "Alright then. Come on back tomorrow morning if you'd like. Good night."

Heero watched the curtain swing close, just happier just not to watch his girlfriend approaching from the opposite way in the cheesy lighting. There was one last flick of the wrist and short brunet hair between the folds of gold-embroidered red velvet and he had disappeared back into his tent to his tape music. Heero hesitated there. He didn't know whether to press his luck at avoiding his girlfriend by simply getting a walking start on her, when she was likely only to call him up while drunken. Mostly likely, he'd ignore the ringing of the phone and she would be forced to be leave long, well-meaning but still irritating messages that would torment him to no end as he sat listening through them. And she would also come straight to his apartment to straighten the entire matter out the very next morning and use the messages as points in her accusation of him. But there was another option at procrastination he could at least give a try. He moved back towards the tent.

Inside, Heero squinted in the dim lighting. He could barely see at first while his eyes adjusted but he could clearly hear the sounds of his girlfriend passing by without a clue. Trotting by, emitting less than flattering giggly noises with her equally intoxicated friend. All of this over the tinny sound of some old rockabilly song, which stopped abruptly. The gypsy boy stood across the tent, which only was ten or twelve feet around, with his finger on the button of the radio. He looked at Heero almost skeptically then pasted on a welcoming smile to greet him again. He lifted his hand and pocketed it, finding his position in a chair at a table ornamented by an obligatory crystal ball. The brunet man's face came into the light, revealing a pair of odd-colored eyes and a cherub-like face that was somehow starkly engaging.

"So, what made you change your mind?" he asked, his smile ringing with sociability. "Please tell me it was my wonderful powers of persuasion. I might be able to prove I'm worth at least minimum wage then."

There was something strangely homely and warm in his flashy tone. It was enough to convince Heero in the state that he was in that he should at least sit down. So he did. He pulled out the other fold-up chair from the blue-draped table and sat down unobtrusively. "Sorry. I'm just trying to avoid someone," he said. "I don't mean to be rude."

The gypsy boy shrugged. "Hm. Doesn't matter to me, traveler. I'm just happy for some company." The brunet man seemed an incessant well of smiling, for that's what he did almost in the place of blinking. He lifted his arms onto the table and clasping his hands around his elbows. "I don't necessarily enjoy being completely alone, you know? There's something awfully cold in living only for yourself."

Heero twitched and mused about the last sentence. It wasn't so bad, he argued back mentally though his face didn't budge.

Across the table, the man's smile spread. He lifted up one of his hands in greeting while the golden jewelry glittered under the cast of a single incandescent bulb swinging overhead. "Well, we should introduce ourselves, don't you think? If you're going to stay for a little while, I'd like to be able to call you something, traveler."

The Japanese man tilted his head slightly. Instead of making in general a pleasant expression, he lifted an eyebrow. Flat tone. The hand remained unanswered in the air. "I don't believe I said I'd be staying, actually." He folded his arms against his chest and continued, "There are things to do besides sit inside a circus tent and be dictated my future."

A crafty look crossed the stranger's face. "So you like to keep life unexpected, huh?"

His blue eyes dimmed in the other man's direction, neither from annoyance or contempt. The hole in his chest just ached a little. "Actually, I'd rather not," he answered. "Being foolish doesn't put a roof over your head or food on the table."

"Oh," the gypsy grunted understandingly. "But you'd rather not introduce yourself while having an intelligent conversation and avoid your girlfriend at the same time? Not only is it discourteous," he cooed playfully across the table, "but it looks like the signs of a closeted anarchist, my friend."

Heero grunted, having to draw his face in to resist a defeated smile. And he wouldn't let it slip that he'd been outwitted, if only momentarily, by a young man in a frilly bohemian outfit. In order to do that, he covered it with the original disapproving frown he'd used in the presence of his girlfriend. Especially her arm unwelcome onto his elbow. But she wasn't there anymore. There was no perfume in the air, just a false gypsy across the table with a feline smile.

"An anarchist?" Heero asked finally in return. Skepticism was of no expense here.

Violet eyes shot back a half-pointed glance. "All I've been asking for is a simple hand shake and introduction. I think you're man enough to bring yourself to that, at least. Or am I wrong?"

"If you feel you must." Heero leaned up and accepted the handshake, introducing himself plainly as himself, Heero Yuy, and received another one of those bleach-clean smiles in return. It was all he could do to not make himself seem unmannered in the presence of a bohemian, so he obliged him in the tiniest bow and returned to his seat. The gypsy, however, made his contentment widely known with an equally spacious display of teeth.

"You can call me Duo." He chuckled to himself and leaned back in the bare metal chair. Comfortably hooking his hands behind his head of shoulder-length, unbound brown hair, he slipped back into that familiar muse of a smirk. "Your fortune-teller for the night."

"I haven't asked for my future."

He tilted his head. "What if I said it was free after midnight? A one-night special, just for you."

At that, Heero was prompted to glance down at his watch in the dull yellow light. The second hand ticked faithfully away as always, while the minute hand was just shy of the Roman numeral for 12.

"Eleven fifty-five," he said complacently.

"Who keeps track of time at an hour of night like this?" Duo joked, puffing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "Men such as yourself are usually a little on the bottle as well, right? Well, I've had my share of drink, so we'll just say it's midnight for the record. How bout that?"

Heero paused. "You talk too smoothly to be intoxicated."

"And you look too good to be avoiding a pretty girl," the gypsy shot back effortlessly.

For a moment, there was a stumble in Heero's chest and a nervous flutter in the bottom of his stomach as he wondered if he'd just been complimented. And if he had, why was he getting so unnerved? Perhaps it was just the alcohol seething, or the bright, lethal precision of the fortune-teller's smile across from him. Whatever it was, he brushed it off and retained a safe distance upon his face. Something in him always had told him that the second you seem vulnerable enough, that's the second you lose the game which you're playing. He didn't shift in his seat. He didn't flush, not even slightly, but there was an uncomfortable knot still within him when opened his mouth to speak.

Duo beat him to it. He smiled lushly as he sensed the defeat from the dark-haired man across the table. Smelt it.

"So, whaddil'ya have? A glance into the crystal ball, or maybe a palm reading?" He shifted forward, folding his arms decorated like a jewelry pawnshop on the table. "Hm, Heero?"

"...Which are you better at?" He asked with a sigh of defeat.

"Palms. Crystal balls are just fancy glowing snow globes."

Heero snorted, but in the fashion of a gentleman who knew when he was beat out, lifted his hand from his arm and put it on the table. His palm was pale and lanky in the light, hands that had precisely obeyed rules and never been cut by punishment. Duo, the odd gypsy boy, grinned in response. He rummaged through his pocket and dropped some of his own money into the upturned bowler cap on the floor filled with tips. Then, adjusting his seat so that he could reach across the table, picked up the customer's hand and began to read. All the while, the air was thick and silent and the dark-haired man watched him move silently.

Duo cupped the back of his hand into his own palm, which was cold from the night air, and lightly ran the fingertips of his opposite hand along the length of his fingers. They twitched momentarily and caused a little secretive smile to break out on the brunet gypsy's face. By now, Heero already doubted his decision to give his hand to this stranger and doubting how well he could deal with any physical contact under the influence of alcohol. Especially since the way the other man's fingers ghosted along was so unnerving and every movement would cause his breath to find a new catch in his throat.

The gypsy seemed to find something satisfactory about his long, bony fingers and murmured happily under his breath. He left the fingers and traced down to the faint lines of his palm. Swept along every line, carefully reading every crease and curve with his own skin. Tracing the lineage and love line, the health and happiness imprinted into his hand. Relishing every restless, uneasy twitch it merited.

And then his voice kicked in, a low murmur of mysticism and eroticism.

"You come from a long and noble family line, but your life line is so faint" His finger started from the base of the man's palm, curving up the center until the base of his fingers. Fiery warm. "Something haunts you and causes your life to shorten and tighten up. I wonder what it is?" the fortune-teller said with a misty smile. "But your health is strong, I can tell."

His ring finger traced horizontally across his palm, the most madding light touch yet.

"Very strong." He pressed harder, voice dipping lower. "It's unusually pronounced."

Heero tried to swallow but his mouth was getting too dry and tense.

"...So what's bothering you?" The gypsy's feline touch, melting and brushing along his hand like fire, suddenly slid up to the side of his hand, just below the knuckle of his pinkie finger. He smoothed his fingertip softly against the skin, counting the niches and creases like a fanciful mathematician. "Oh my only one child in your future You don't seem to be very lucky in the romantic persuasion as well."

His finger caressed along the last line in the center of his palm, a short little arch.

"You're always searching for something and never grasp it," he whispered huskily. "Poor boy."

And suddenly Heero gasped in a short breath, finally remembering that breathing was necessity. Beyond that, there was undeniable warmth in the very bottom pit of his stomach that ached up through his ribs. He thought of the alcohol, but he knew he had only had a few drinks and that final shot of whiskey. Not too much. It wasn't the allure of the bottle that was finally taking effect. The gypsy boy looked up at him briefly, then back down to his hand. Finally, he opened his mouth again with another diamond smile.

"Such a strange reading"

Heero groaned restlessly, closing his teeth tightly. His eyes were always watching the Romany's hand and it's devious little dance along the inside of his palm. Playing, toying. And beneath the table, the heat of another leg pressed against him, the ankle wrapping around his own. It was maddening, so maddening. The liquor in his stomach couldn't have mattered in the least anymore; the simple husky tone coming from the fortune-teller's mouth aroused him endlessly, playing with him like a cat would gently paw at a helpless mouse just before the kill.

Heero's eyes drifted closed as the warmth of the gypsy's hand traveled up to his wrist, brushing against the fabric of his sleeve, and the warmth of the gypsy's leg toying with his own traveled further and bolder as well.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the deep, consuming depression within him just imagining things, but he swore he felt breathing on his chin. That's when the sensation of the gypsy's lips pressed against his mouth and the fiery warm handprint around his wrist squeezed. Closely. The lips first kissed lightly, moving around his mouth with a feline grace, and demurely pressured for a response, then finally grinned against his skin when they won out. Heero buckled into him without thinking, begging him back with his mouth.

Meanwhile, the knee had invited itself quite happily to rub against the inside of the Japanese man's thigh and caused him to gasp in suddenly. That's when he felt the short-lived rhapsody of the fortune teller's tongue heatedly delving into his mouth like a hunger itself. Heero moaned from the pure joy of it, and instinctively raised his hand to press against the back of the Romany's head. He wanted more. More of he gypsy boy in costume now seducing him so successfully, leaning over the table to find Heero's mouth with his own, causing him arch against the back of the chair with such force that it dug into his skin, still gripping his wrist and stroking his fingertips lightly around it.

As his hand found the back of his head and the luxury of his thick chestnut hair, and as his fingers traveled to touch the headband and strange texture of hair beneath it, the seduction was abruptly ended. The lips ripped from his mouth and all sources of external heat on his body fell away so fast that his head spun. The chair legs began to tip precariously beneath him. He tried to grasp at the fabric of the table but failed and found himself splayed on the cold ground. Above him he saw the swinging incandescent bulb, and sixteen swirling after images of that same light bulb.

The gypsy boy suddenly stood over him. Flushed and breathless, but with a strange crossness soured on his face. His eyes flashed oddly above him and convinced the fallen man that the alcohol was starting to take effect. "I'm sorry, Mr. Yuy," he said hurriedly, losing the softness but none of the sexual allure of his voice while being irate. "You have to go now."

"W-wait--!"

Two hands pulled him to his feat and then pushed him through the fabric curtain before he had the chance to steady himself. Being so rudely excused, Heero staggered out into the cold air only to find his legs still not beneath him and to be reacquainted with the ground. The brief burst of passion still rung in his head like a line of a hundred church bells, and he rolled over onto his side as his eyes slowly began to shift into focus. He lay staring at the closed curtain with a strain in his throat for some time before he stood up and staggered off in the direction of his apartment, with a very painful reality hampering his walk.

**Next Chapter: August 11**


	3. Part 3 YELLOW FANTASIZING

Part 3 YELLOW FANTASIZING

It was only very early the next morning that Heero was able to lift his head from the pillow so that his head didn't instantly spin and pitch him about. The alcohol paired with the inner stresses his life brought on had formed a vicious alliance and taken hold of his brain and shook it violently. Spun it around like a forty-five. Somehow he had found himself at his own door, no small feat during the middle of the night in a city, and had thrown himself into bed with the last bit of strength he had in him. No need for a cold shower; he was unconscious before he finished falling into bed. But now, he ached for one. A hot one. Maybe to melt him away and take all this away with him down the drain.

The Japanese man rolled stiffly over in his bed with his shoes still on and squinted in the pre-dawn darkness. Across the bed he spotted the stark red light proclaiming it to be 4:27 in the morning. As much as he regretted being awake, he managed to pull himself out of bed. He stumbled toward the door of his shower and nearly tripped when he miscalculated where the doorknob would be. The hung-over man kicked off his shoes less-than-gracefully and shut himself in for a long, searing hot shower.

It was some time later that he collapsed back into bed. He didn't bother with clothes. He'd left his own lying scattered on the bathroom tiles and reeking of bar smokers and certain bohemians. He shivered at that thought, but gritted his teeth and rolled over onto his face. Nothing he could do would smother the memories, but if he were unconscious, they would cease to bedevil him, at least for a while.

Heero Yuy was awoken for the second time when the sun was well above the horizon, this time by an external force. While he'd been sleeping, he'd dreamt of wild passions with the stranger and moaned uncomfortably. And he had drifted out of those dreams unwillingly and felt the warmth of a hand on his ankle. So now he looked sleepily over his shoulder, over the folds of the thick white comforter, and around his whitewashed room.

"Oh, you're awake!"

At the foot of his bed, hand wrapped around his ankle beneath the cover, sat whom he thought, at first, was the stranger, with his bright blue-violet eyes and fine brown hair. But it wasn't. The voice was higher and as attractive as root canal in comparison.

Heero sat up stiffly and rubbed at his head, looking grubby and unshaven in general. His hair was still half damp. "Good morning, Relena," he grumbled as best he could. His eyes traveled to her face reluctantly, as sunny and yellow as a sunbeam but still blinding in her peppiness. The long, honey-brown strands of her hair were pulled back into a half ponytail, secured by little braids extending from above her ears back. Her hand rubbed his ankle methodically. He knew she was only trying to be encouraging, but it only increased the desire to pull away ten fold.

"Good morning, Heero! There's some orange juice for you on the table," Relena said sweetly.

Heero glanced at the bedside table and grunted a thank you. He picked up the cool glass and tried desperately to quench the perpetual dryness of his mouth with something other than the memory of how the gypsy had tasted.

"My, you're late getting up. Are you feeling alright now?"

"What time is it?"

"It's almost ten 'o' clock, Heero. But I came this morning to see if you were alright after the party last night, and you seemed very sick!" she said worriedly. The blonde turned to sit on the bed and stroked her hand along his calf, her cornflower blue eyes liquid with concern.

"I was?" he narrowed his eyes, his lips pressed against the rim of the glass. "I don't remember feeling sick."

She watched him take long-drawn drinks from the fresh orange juice, then nodded. Relena's voice was all squeaky-clean innocence and her painted red nails trailed along the bones in his ankle. "Yeah, you were moaning so loudly in your sleep. You must have had a very high fever. But it passed by morning, I guess."

Heero sputtered on his orange juice, remembering in bright vision what he had dreamed that night.

"Be careful, Heero!" she cried out in concern, crawling up and easing the glass down from the dark-haired man's mouth. "You shouldn't drink it so fast like that. You're going to upset your stomach, chugging it down like that! You boys…!"

Wiping off the trails of orange citrus off his chin, the Japanese man nodded wordlessly in agreement. It was getting worse. He had so difficulty keeping his mind away from that seducer, that odd-eyed gypsy it was getting almost physical. He hadn't been made out of nicotine—it'd only been a few hours for Christ's sakes. Meanwhile, Relena's lean arm wrapped around his shoulder in a gesture of comfort and she stroked his shoulder like the clingy blonde she was becoming. She even moved a strand of disheveled brown hair from his face with an affectionate smile on her face. "I think you need to stay in bed for a while. Don't you?"

"I don't care," Heero mumbled.

Her lanky, manicured hand pressed against his forehead without invitation, and his dark blue eyes flickered toward it. The annoyance was clear to see in his eyes, though it never had dawned on the poor girl that he didn't like unnecessary contact. It likely never would.

"You don't seem very warm," she said to herself, biting girlishly on her lip. "But I think you should stay in bed today anyway."

"No. I've got work to do." The Japanese man sat up and was about to peel back the starched white comforter and start the day as unwilling as he was to do so. "I have a schedule to keep. I'm out of food, and I've got a major social sciences report to research."

"Heero, please go easy on yourself. You look exhausted!" She pleaded with her eyes as well. "It's vacation! You'll have plenty of time for that, but for now just rest. Please!"

"I'm fine." What she had said was true, though, and he had to lie to block it. He was exhausted through and through to his bones, and he knew exactly who had exhausted him. In his own manufactured dreams, with the glittering jewelry and cat-like smiles. The gypsy. The gypsy with his violet eyes centering in his clean-cut, heart-shaped face, and the voice of Eros. And clipping little sarcastic bites coming out of his mouth whenever they pleased, which was somehow intensely attractive.

"I just need some breakfast then I'll be the same as ever," he grumbled, scratching at his bushy bed hair. "You're overreacting about this, Relena. You know I never get sick so easily."

Her face shifted to disappointment, and she forced her hand on his shoulder. He dared not to brush it away though it was all he could think of doing right now. Even if he had a genuine affection for her, he wouldn't have been able to face her after a near fling with a boy in a Romany costume and jewelry on his wrist. He wished he had had a fling, he wished he had been thrown on the ground and ravished, if only once, if only to be abandoned once the sun rose. At least then, he could have had everything he wanted with the same amount of guilt unloaded on his shoulders. It would give the girl a reason to hate him and walk out without having to crush her heart in his very hand himself.

"Where were you last night, Heero? I went looking for you."

Damn it. He couldn't do this.

"I stopped at a bar for a while, Relena." He turned his prussian blue eyes finally to look at his so-called girlfriend, and found no ache in his stomach nor affectionate ache in his heart looking at that face of beautiful but plain blue eyes, and beautiful but plain wheat yellow hair. But that was no reason to shatter the only friendship he had ever had in earnest. "That's all."

"Oh, alright."

Heero flinched. It was too easy for her to accept what he said; it stung him to know he was breaking the innocent's heart without her even knowing it. But he couldn't pretend forever. The girl with the cornflower blue eyes just added to the large black hole forever growing within himself. She was another tooth on the bear trap of life closing in on him.

He looked at her again, almost regretfully, and noticed something that might have made him suspicious if he weren't so tired. "Why aren't you hungover? You had much stronger stuff to drink than I did."

"I took a chaser," she said sweetly, though it was strange to hear it from the innocent mouth of his adoptive sister. "I'm sorry, do you want one? I have some in my purse. I'm sure it might make you feel better—"

"No, it's fine."

"Heero, I think you should stay in bed for today," she implored again, this time sounding sweeter and more genuine only for the doubts in the Japanese boy's mind. "I don't want you to go making yourself even more sick than you are."

He searched her face tiredly, then sighed and lay back down. He wouldn't break her innocent little spirit today, even though everything she did reminded him more and more. More and more.

Heero lay in bed for another few hours beneath the white covers. He drank the rest of his orange juice without event and accepted the breakfast that Relena brought to his bed in a paper bag from a local donut shop with a faint, listless smile. His girlfriend first propped him up at the head of the bed with an array of carefully placed pillows so that he could lie down and still view the television. She would most often sit at the foot of the bed, considerately massaging the tense lines in the bottom of his feet with her uninteresting, shy fingertips. For a few minutes, they sat in silence and the room was filled only with the noises from the television, flickering from channel to channel at the blonde girl's questionable discretion.

It was ended when the remote control finally surfed around to the ever-prestigious CNN and fed their eyes with an image of Relena's father and major political figure. He was being interviewed in studio with a blonde reporter about the current issues of the world, the topic in white letters at the bottom of the screen, intermittently flipping from name to topic and back. Then, Relena began to touch endlessly on the subject of her father.

And Heero found it was equally comfortable to put his head beneath the pillows as it was to lie on top of them.

She talked at lengths and more lengths of her father's politics and his great deeds for humanity, almost as proficiently as a political figure herself. Economy, school systems, conflicts with bordering territories and countries. And the most controversial—the piece de resistance—the ever talked about issue of Nekos and their conflicts with the human race. It was what every politician seemed to focus on intently. It was almost an invasion of sorts to the American public, a constant threat to be considered highly dangerous and keep the terror alert at a constant burning color. The Nekos were a feline, humanoid race sprouting from the days of old, and were the fuel for hundreds of frightening myths told to keep children behaving. They were said to have no human ears, only a furry feline pair on the top of their heads, usually with brown, orange, or grey humanoid hair. Their eyes were definitely credited to their feline ancestry, with large, slit pupils with an impossible array of iris colors from pitch black to brilliant red. They had generally humanoid bodies, gentle fur extending up their arms, feline tails, and superhuman senses and reflexes. The only reason they didn't begin to overpopulate human beings was because of their relatively short life spans and tough, carnivorous lifestyle in the cold wilds. But they were no cavemen. Nekos were just as proficient with languages as human beings, if not better, for they all spoke a feline native tongue and could master any other human dialect they chose. They were creative and strongly bonded with their kin and rarely had the warring skirmishes of mankind. Environmental, clever, and highly matriarchal.

There were even two unique strains of the half-cat, half-human sentient creatures. One, the Northerns, lived in the upper parts of North America, Asia, and Europe, while the Equatorials had lived in central Africa until their extinction some centuries ago by the heavy hand of poachers. The Northerns were darker and more exclusive, while the Equatorials had been bolder and mostly golden-colored. They were ruthless night hunters as well. Until the most modern of days, the mysterious race was more than happy to live separate of mankind in their own arctic homeland. That was until they mysteriously couldn't sustain themselves where they had lived for thousands of years, and were forced to move south into populated areas and merge into human cities. Many of these were the older kinsmen who didn't speak the human languages and were unusually hostile to "ignorant" humans, spreading animosity to the young ones just as human cultures had about Nekos.

That's when it had begun. This waging of war, of sorts. Nekos were fighting to gain rights in America, and humans were fighting to keep the savage beasts away from their families. After a few human children slaughtered in spite and a massive Neko hunt ensuing, it had spiraled out of control. Killings, bounties, and organized attacks ruled the day, while Americans lived in fear and innocent Nekos were hunted down and skinned alive, and the politicians scrambled frantically to bring a healthy, media-friendly end to it all. And Relena's father was one of those men.

His most accredited action was the decision to pull a large group of soldiers from an unseen Neko nest inside human borders and narrowly saved them from being slaughtered. Since that day, he'd been slowly climbing the pack of political figures and popularity, toward an almost inevitable presidential candidate nomination.

"Those terrible things," Relena said darkly under her breath, most likely just agreeing with something her father had said in the interview. Few people knew anything about the Nekos aside from the tales that they would suck the bones from your still living body if you didn't finish your vegetables or go to bed early. The only reason Heero had been even partially educated was because of a long report he'd done on it in freshmen year.

"I hope we never see one of those creatures, Heero. That would be awful. They'd kill us on sight!"

"Sure," the man sighed. He pressed the pillow tighter around his head and attempted to fall back asleep. "Terrible."

Like an old man long tormented by his wife's aggravating words, which were protected by her innocence, he had learned to just agree vaguely in order to stay out of trouble. To be left in peace.

Relena made a disgusted face tinged with hatred on her face, an expression that did not take on her innocent features. She folded her arms tightly. "Nasty things," she hissed at the television screen. The ignorant animadversion was palatable in her voice, though she had no idea of what she criticizing, judging by her lack of studies in class most of the time. "My father is going to get rid off them. He's a good leader, and because of him we'll all be safe to let our children play outside again."

The Japanese man's eyes, in the shadows beneath the covers, flickered dully, being somehow reminded of the strange, delicate scent of the bohemian on his clothes and his hand lingering for hours afterward. It was torturous.

Meanwhile, Relena put the remote control down by his hand as she left the room for the bathroom. Once she had shut the door, he grumbled and lifted his head from under the pillow. He had had enough of listening to all of Peacecrafts preaching, though he still respected the family very dearly and appreciated the generosity they had shown to take him in. He flipped through the channels for a few seconds and quickly grew tired of the surfing around. He adjusted himself against the pillow so he was sitting somewhat upright, and lifted the remote up so he could distinguish the numbers on the buttons. The image of CNN and the regally suited and regally tongued Peacecraft was exchanged for the local news channel and a young ethnic anchorwoman shuffling with her papers. The camera readjusted on a close up as the caption came on underneath a tiny computerized graphic.

"Tonight, the top story is one of great concern for the greater metropolitan area. A warranted criminal, just recently identified as a very successful con man, has disappeared from police radar in New York City and is suspected to be traveling through our area."

Heero grunted unhappily to himself. Another thing to upset Relena and cause her to cut the circulation from his arm in panic whenever they stepped outside.

On the screen, they flickered from the anchorwoman's average face to blurry images of a young man taken from a far and in bad conditions, peoples' heads and buildings obstructing the view. One of a man in an alley, walking quickly. Another of him, in a rational suit, dealing cars to what appeared to be an unsuspecting customer. The most noticeable thing was long plait of hair that seemed to disappear and reappear in the different angles of photos, sometimes tucked in to a shirt or sweater or hung over his shoulder. Something vague and suspicious reacted in the pit of his stomach as he watched, and the woman's voice resumed.

"This twenty-four-year-old man has been conning at large in nearly every state, at every imaginable business. His arrest warrant was issued two days ago, after he was caught forging checks in a Manhattan restaurant. Though not much is known about him or his whereabouts, police have identified him as extremely crafty and most likely armed and dangerous. The reward for Duo Maxwell's capture or any information leading to his arrest has risen as of late from $1,000 to $25,000 after he was identified as a clerk who laundered thousands from a Washington D.C. bank last October."

The image changed to a close up of an obviously false I.D. with a large emphasis on the portrait in the corner. It was the only clear picture they had captured of him, but his face was still somewhat shielded by a black baseball cap.

"He may be using any number of clever aliases or business fronts to keep himself hidden. His most distinctive feature is his unusually long hair, which he keeps braided at all times. Despite this obvious telltale sign, police are still having trouble finding this con man. If you have an information of his whereabouts, we urge you to call us at…"

Heero only blinked quietly as he stared at the image of the bohemian on the screen, hovering over a criminal hot line number. His face was stone still. The colors of the screen danced across his face as it shifted back to the anchorwoman's face, plastered with a false concern.

The door to the room opened casually and Relena reentered, wiping her hands on the side of her conservative pink dress. She glanced to his face and noticed something strange in the way he blankly lost himself in the television screen, normally being a man opposed indulging in such a brain-rotting thing.

Heero, meanwhile, lifted his wrist and frowned sourly at it.

"Heero, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Relena." He didn't bother looking at her.

The blonde girl mouthed a quiet, "Alright," and turned he attention to what he was watching with such devotion. "What's happening in the news?"

The anchorwoman, in her pale blue business suit and high turtleneck, stared unknowingly back into the Japanese man's flat blue eyes as she finished up the report. "Police also urge you that if you do see this man, that you do not attempt to capture him yourself. He is, we repeat, suspected to be armed and dangerous. Authorities believe that he also may be a––"

The power to the TV cut and the screen went black, as Heero put the remote calmly down on the bedside table. He pushed aside the empty glass and rummaged under a stack of loose-leaf papers for his keys. All while his girlfriend watched him in silence. After retrieving all he wanted, he flung the covers off of him and sat on the edge of the bed still without clothes. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes dull, at the blonde woman in his room and she met that look with an expression of curiosity.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "You know you should be staying in bed today."

Without grunt or snort of response, he turned back to face the wall and stood up. He went to his dark wood dresser and began to dress quietly, giving almost no sign that he even acknowledged her presence behind him. Mechanically, he picked out a pair of black slacks and simple white dress shirt, one that made him think of the frills of fabric around the bohemian's neckline. They were already folded into neat, immaculate squares, and after selecting underwear and socks, he secured the clothing under his arm and smoothed out the comforter with the other. Heero spread the various articles out, as he had done in routine for every week of his life since the passing of his parents, and dressed methodically.

'Heero?" Relena implored again, walking up to his side and in concern, placing her hand on his arm as he finished adjusting the sleeves. "What are you doing?"

He brushed her off innocuously, but face vacant and visibly cool to her display of consideration. He walked silently across the white room and opened his closet door. A mechanical click ensued; light flooded the small compartment and the pale incandescent light bulb rocked rhythmically back and forth above his head.

"Heero!" she snapped after him.

The Japanese man browsed casually through the assortment of ties strung along the wall of his closet with no more flair than a moving corpse. Dark ones, pinstripes of black and white, diagonally colored strips alike. He chose a simple, matte black tie and strung it effortlessly around his neck and into a smooth and graceful knot.

"Why won't you even speak to me, Heero? What's wrong?"

Heero smoothly moved back to the bedside table, retrieved the keys and adjusted himself in the tiny mirror laying there, Prussian eyes detached and cold. Very cold. Something had taken a hold of him, and it fretted away at the fragile nerves of his girlfriend. She stood beside the bed, staring at him, anger and sadness finding an ambiguous middle ground in her innocent looking eyes. They pleaded in his direction, lamented even.

"Heero, please say something to me."

He glanced back at her, paused in his fluid motion, but only brushed by on his way to the door. On his way out, he was apt to notice the sound of heels following him through his spacious wood floored empty living room. When he skimmed through the kitchen and into the hallway, she began to trot hurriedly after him.

"Heero!"

Without a word, he opened the door and paused to scan his gaze over the array of locks on the edge. His precise blue eyes flickered momentarily toward the woman following him, just turning the corner, then back to the large, rusty dead bolt at eye-level with him. With a powerful appliance of force, he inched the lock to a semi-closed position and slammed the door, jarring it into place. The man gave one last look before the door closed completely, and he waited for the response of his girlfriend.

"Heero, come back!"

One or twice her hand beat on the door. But nothing threatening. It was like a humming bird tapping at a brick wall. Then she began to claw at the deadbolt he'd forced into place and squealed in frustration.

She never had been strong enough to move that rusty thing.

Heero put his hands calmly into the pocket of his black slack pants, and stepped lightly down the stairs at the end of the hall. He passed the fire engine red fire extinguisher and exit sign on the wall as he took a right. He nudged the glass door open with his hip, stepping impassively out in to the stark, innocent sunlight of the parking lot.


	4. Part 4 MALCONTENT AND THE AGREEMENT

Part 4 MALCONTENT AND THE AGREEMENT

The gate to the carnival ground still swung open, the wooden, red-lettered sign slapping against the tangled mesh as the employees made a steady route back and forth from the large, garishly decorated moving trucks. They carried boxes and packages, pulled exotic animals along on studded leashes, and traveled in friendly cliques, chatting and generally flirting at the man opening the gate for them. A group of belly dancers in average clothes giggled as he held it courteously then went inside once they had returned to mindlessly gossiping among themselves. He rolled his eyes secretly and grunted to himself.

In the daylight, with the sun hovering just behind the metallic tops of the skyscrapers, the carnival was fragile looking and serene. No brash, garish colored lights at the door of every tent, just the strings of barren Christmas lights running overhead. Bits of trash littered the ground; red, green, and blue scraps of ribbon and half-consumed pop bottles skittered in the puffs of wind. Distant sounds of men talking and metal beams and boxes being packed up echoed all around, along with the assorted mewling and growling of the petting zoo being rounded up. Heero cut through the assortments of colorful tents, some being pulled to the ground to the right and left of him. Not too many people cared about his presence, or even saw him go by. He was quiet and unobtrusive naturally in life; it wasn't too much of stretch to be that way intentionally, so he was undisturbed in his journey. After a few minor missteps, he was again at the transient home of the bohemian, the criminal, and the con man, Duo Maxwell.

It seemed strange that he'd given his name so readily when he looked back in hindsight. It was an unusual name and ran him all the more risk of being caught, but no. He must have be better than that to be caught so easily, otherwise he couldn't retain his flashy little tones and bright, devilish expression in his eyes. Somehow he knew a fear-broken Duo wouldn't have that same bold criminal charm around him.

Again, he stood outside the red velvet fabric draped over the doorway, with two bare wires of white lights crossing overhead, fizzled out and dark. From the inside, the fuzzy, indistinct tape music had disappeared and was replaced with the sound of a young man humming. Boxes were pushed around and the sound of a suitcase opening all reached Heero's ears as he lingered outside in the morning sunshine. He didn't wait long, because the bohemian cursed loudly, happy to put a very large emphasis on the more vulgar-sounding syllables. He listened to the gypsy boy mumble something about the damned movers and walk toward the door.

But Heero didn't move.

The red velvet curtain peeled back and the blur of movement paused as soon as it sensed that there was someone standing in the doorway. Duo's face looked blankly into his own for a moment, and then those wonderfully colored eyes went wide in surprise.

He jumped. "Eep! You again!" He slammed the curtain shut as quickly as he could. If a curtain could be slammed.

Instead of either leaving at the prompting of the unwelcoming gesture or barging in with a righteous anger, the college man decided that it would be best to wait a few moments. As he stood there, neither jilted nor provoked, he was happy to listen to the assorted sounds and translate them for the time being. The bohemian first went into the back of his tent and pounded on the top of the suitcase. He could hear the harsh rhythm of curses slowly subside, and the gypsy boy wander back to the front of the tent, where he dropped the suitcase on the ground and clothing shuffled loosely. Lifting his eyebrow, Heero wondered vaguely if he was rummaging through the false bottom for a weapon, but heard no such signs. After a few moments, he gauged it to be safe, as safe as it probably could be when dealing with a criminal, anyway. The Japanese man slowly glanced around and stepped up to the red velvet curtain.

The dim light of the tent took a moment to adjust in his eyes, but the pointed violet glance he received upon stepping inside didn't go unnoticed. Heero stood still and let the red velvet swing close behind him. The brown-haired bohemian, sitting on his haunches across the room while rummaging a hand through his dark clothes, eyed him suspiciously and then turned back to his suitcase. Silence permeated the air.

He was packing up his Romany costume, vest by fringed shirt by studded earring by gold hoop bracelet and all. The slim man didn't make a sound as he padded them down into the jumbled pile of clothing and then produced an anonymous black cap from his side and lifted it toward his head. Eyes down, hair visibly damp around his neck and ears, and ignoring Heero completely, he made it a process to pull the last bandana off his head and quickly slap his baseball hat onto his head and pull the rim down professionally. The bohemian, now dressed in all black, simply stashed that as well in the chaotic mass of clothes. He pressed the lid down and flipped the rusted metallic clasps close with sinister sounding snaps.

Heero stood quietly, turning over what to say in his head.

Again, he was beaten to the punch. The slender black-clad man turned his head and flicked his wrist in a throwing motion, though his eyes still refused to meet with the traveler's. Heero caught the glimpse of light reflecting off the item and caught it neatly. When he unfolded his palm, the face of his watch stared back at him, the golden second hand ticking just as faithfully as ever.

Heero looked back up to the bohemian, and he was looking back. With a very analytical, almost cynical look in his eyes.

"Thank you," Heero managed out of courtesy.

He was met with barbs. "I'm defenseless, you know. This would be a perfect time to capture me, traveler, since you've obviously recognized me for who I am." Duo remained down on his haunches, revealing the very athletic arch of his thighs. "Else you wouldn't be here."

"I came for my watch, that's all." Heero's eyes and tone were quiet.

The con man stood up and gave him a very dark little smile paired with a shake of his head. "That's such bullshit," he declared through his misleading display of pearly white teeth. "I wouldn't believe that load for a second if it came with a freaking diploma." He laughed bitterly and shook his head, while Heero watched from the doorway.

He collected up himself and bent over to pick up the dark suitcase, still with that eerie grin upon his face. While the dark-haired man stood unresponsive in the doorway, he crossed the room and leaned down again, this time lifting up the mattresses of the cot behind a pulled-back curtain. Two semi-automatics were produced and he pocketed both weapons, then went rummaging again, this time fishing out a plain white, flat box from deeper underneath the mattress. Obviously, it was cold hard cash. After being caught bouncing checks, Duo must have gotten smart to the police' awareness of him and wired a withdrawal from some secretive Swiss or Cayman Island bank account.

He finally looked up to Heero, slipping on a neutral little smirk, one that could have meant anything you wanted it to, anything you made it out to be. A mirror smile.

"You know what? I don't care if you _do_ happen to turn me in. So why don't you make your move, big man?"

Heero remained silent and stony, though it was getting harder to keep his mouth shut. He twitched his lips to open his mouth, but hesitated. He wrestled with reason in his mind, and all the while, those violet eyes dissected him from across the room.

"Come on, go ahead."

Nothing happened.

"I don't care," Duo insisted, shouldering a black backpack he picked up from the foot of the bed. "I don't have anything good to do with my life anymore, if you want to know. If it suits your sense of righteousness to bring me in, _mister_, then go ahead."

When the traveler, in his clean-pressed suit and yuppie tie, didn't respond, it only prompted a darker smile of deceptive brightness.

"No? Fine then. I hope you realize you're letting a criminal out onto the streets," he said in dark humor. He sighed nonchalantly and brushed a lock of brunet hair from his face as he walked up toward the intruder into his secrecy, never breaking eye contact. The gypsy paused and stared almost defiantly into the slanted blue eyes of the traveler, as he'd dubbed him, and smelt the traces of soap and girly perfume coming off him, along with the almost eliminated scent of alcohol. Beer and traces of whiskey.

He stood at eye level with Heero. Unflinchingly, he declared, "If you came back for more, don't depend on me to be your whore, mister."

Heero didn't flinch either. Something in him, though, still hadn't found the nerve to confront the bohemian; his brain was swimming with indecision and bright red lines of rules that were clashing with the erratic thought of the brunet man in front of him. The eyes of the gypsy boy searched him over as well and seemed to find nothing threatening in his expression and he brushed by him, passing through the curtain. The square of sunny yellow light from the door glowed at Heero's feet and then died as it swung close. He stared blankly off into the dimness of the room for a split-second, while every line and innate gesture of the previously exchanged words repeated in an insane din in his brain, trying to be interpreted sensibly.

He was having a hard time deciding. All his life he'd been a natural straight line, a so-dubbed stick in the virtually unmovable mud, a rule-abiding goodie two-shoe, but this one day of his life, this one moment… made every rule seem so damned stupid. There was no reason he should let Duo go. The law was god in this society. But those who made that law never had known Duo. They had never seen it through the criminal's eyes, as they drew those thick black lines and boxed in their lives. Heero knew Duo had reasons for doing what he did; he saw it whenever he smiled with that self-loathing, tawdry grin as plainly as if he had written it across his shirt. No body else could see that... or if they did, they didn't care.

Heero suddenly had an idea.

He stepped back out in the sunlight, squinted his blue eyes against the suddenly searing brightness, and let the curtain slip off the back of his hand. Like the bohemian's finger tips had in their velvet haste. To his right, he spotted Duo strolling along the garbage littered path towards the back of the grounds. The suitcase in hand rocking rhythmically, the backpack slung casually over his shoulder, the anonymous, distancing black hat completing a cunning, unassuming image. He'd already slipped ahead of him a good ten meters, walking no more briskly than an alley cat would stroll in the dark at midnight.

Heero began to jog after him and caught up once they reached the back gate of similar metal mess, and an identical sign in red paint. At the sound of the grass underfoot, he saw him speed up ever so slightly. The bohemian, or ex-bohemian more like it, distantly opened the gate and let it slap with a bone-dry rattle against the fence as he strolled on. Heero kept pace behind, calmly walking with equal precision in his step.

Prussian eyes were fixated on the back of the con man's head as they traveled across a parking lot littered with unmanned semi-trucks. Their hulls gleamed, the illustrious color logos hung in the background, and the scent of oil alluded through the air. Duo made no move to lose him as he traveled among the trucks.

"Duo."

The con man stopped, his shoulder length hair teasing in the wind, and looked sharply over his shoulder and his hand gripped on the backpack strap.

"Listen, I apologize for stealing from you and you've got everything back, safe and sound. What more do you want from me?" He snorted incredulously at the man's composed face. "Hey, don't think just because I kissed you last night means I'll let you tail me like a lost puppy. As you probably know, I'm sort of on the run. Not a lot of time to goof around, okay?"

"I want to talk to you." Heero stated that fact with a dull tone, the distance gaining in his voice. "You just keep walking away."

"You couldn't answer me before. All of a sudden you've become a talk-box?

Heero's eyes furrowed mildly, looking straight across into the defiant blue-violet eyes of a criminal. The series of earrings in his ear now were only little red dots along the cartilage, and the ornate golden hoops were absent from his wrist. Something pulled at the bottom of his stomach—disappointment perhaps—but the pure, strange, and tangled charisma he held never diminished, with or without the jewelry and bohemian clothes.

The gypsy glanced up and down the Japanese man's face as he stared at him, something churning behind his blue eyes. His keen, little blue human eyes.

"What?" he demanded. "I'm not in the mood to be patient, here."

"Last night." While his voice didn't falter in its indifferent tone, the expression muddled on his face. The distanced reserve mixed in with a more potent mix and distorted the sense of stoicism he'd worked in all his life. This wasn't normal to be doing. "Why did you kick me out?"

Duo didn't seem to be irked by the question, but that highly adaptable false grin or toothy sneer had faded considerably when he asked. The con man didn't pause at all, his tone half-flat. "I had a headache. I wanted to you to leave."

Heero hesitated, another question forming hazily at the top of his currently soupy mind. "What you said about my future—"

The con man rolled his eyes, turning fluidly to clap his hand on his shoulder. Heat sunk through his thin dress shirt and Heero flinched in anticipation, being revisited by memory. Something was so wildly attractive about the way he snipped so offhandedly and fought against Heero in his presence, didn't accept everything with a buttery smile. But it was also dangerous, he couldn't forget.

Duo leaned towards him again. "Mr. Yuy, listen to me."

He stopped as best he could and looked up straight into the bohemian's face, though the nervous heat still seared through his shoulder like fire.

"Last night, I was just a gypsy. Not _your_ gypsy, not _anybody's_ gypsy—just a stupid fortune-teller. And I can't read palms. Understand?" he said, the traces of bitterness palpable.

Heero nodded to himself.

"Last week, I was a bus driver. The week before that I was a teacher's assistant at an elementary school. A janitor, a street artist, a professional biker, a butcher. You have to understand that I'm not going to stay here and be your private little joy that reads your palm and seduces you, all right? Yesterday I was your fortune-teller, and tomorrow I could be your shoe-shiner, or your bank teller, or your waiter, or even your attorney, but that still wouldn't make it the truth."

Heero blinked quietly in response, absorbing all this as fast as it was being spewed at him. He wasn't interpreting it into common sense very well, but it was lingering in his mind nonetheless. The gleam in his deep blue eyes was calm and distant again; with traces of troubled thoughts shining through to the surface. It wasn't normal to be here, to be thinking like this.

"But today," Duo said, panting slightly and smile raw and painful to behold. But simultaneously so interesting with such feline prowess. "Today, I'm just a delivery boy, okay? Understand?"

"Perfectly," Heero responded dully, enchanted by the sinuous precision of his words, always splitting to the bone with ferocity but still covered in a friendly grin. It was so strange and almost savage, but beautiful. He watched quietly as the con man lifted his hand and took a step back away from him in preparation to leave.

"Good."

He grinned falsely, cheekily, one last time. Then he turned and walked away, leaving the blue-eyed man in the wake of his defiant footsteps. It was as simple and clean as that. When he rounded the back of a red shipping truck and his hand traced along the metal, he glanced back once, but saw no one. He'd left. With a sigh, he turned without regrets and headed for his truck.


	5. Part 5 BOHEMIAN NOBILITY

Part 5 BOHEMIAN NOBILITY

It was getting too hot to be a criminal these days, Duo mused to himself darkly. In the short time he'd been out in the sun, traveling across the circus grounds, he'd already found trails of sweat curling down the side of his face. Dark clothes could be blessing and a curse. Very slimming, but at the same time they were a death trap in the middle of July. Of course, the traveler made him hot as well, but he was simply a thing of the past. He would be out of his mind to think he would ever settle down in one place long enough for his trail to be sniffed out, even for a one-night stand, unless he was begging to be caught. In this life, Duo Maxwell had only himself to depend on and he had to keep moving constantly and cut all connections with the outside world if he wanted to survive and keep his absolute freedom.

He couldn't stay in one place, even for one more day than he needed to. He would not compromise his lead over the slow and generally inept authorities. Especially not for a human.

He opened the door to his small, rounded-front Isuzu delivery truck and launched his suitcase up into the seat overhead before he bounded up the stairs and onto the seat. Above the searing blacktop a good four feet, the con man slammed the door shut to the outside sunshine. Inside the truck, he allowed himself a moment's time to get his bearings and examine it one last time. The interior reeked of human sweat and sticky, deep-fried junk food, littered with trace amounts of alcohol and cologne scent. It was engraved into the very fabric. Duo crinkled his nose in distaste, but knew he'd have to live with it without complaint. The con man lifted the black suitcase and dropped it into the meager cot in back, shedding his heavily loaded backpack and dumping it in the same fashion. Once rid of those, he went sniffing around and checked for any suspicious items.

He noted the tiny, driver's log camera in the upper left corner of the cabin, but paid it no real notice. As long as he remained in his black cap or remembered to dispose of the tape later, he would be fine.

There was shipment dossier lying on the passenger seat, and, brushing a few crumbs of stale breadcrumbs down onto the floor, he picked it up. The first sheet he skimmed across {the shipment orders, blah blah blah} and carefully examined the alien-looking scribbled signature beneath it, recognizing it as one of his thousands of aliases. This was one of the more amusing ones he'd thought up, he thought with a brazen grin. Aman Tahuggenkis. A false I.D. completed the deception, secured in the corner by a paperclip. Duo smiled mischievously and confiscated it for security measures, stuffing it into his pocket.

Duo realized he smelt the traces of fresh strawberry gum as well, hidden by the dominating scent of the people who had been there before. He leaned down and stretched his arm beneath the seat. After rummaging for a second, scattering dried-up Styrofoam cups in his wake, he sat up with a brand-new, bright pink pack of gum in his hand. The con man happily ripped into it and devoured the first three pieces. With a shit-eating grin on his face, he instinctively turned-over the engine and was lifting his hand to put in it drive. A large, airy pink bubble expanded from his lips at the same time and for a moment, Duo was carefree again. But he wasn't through with his business in this town.

The passenger side of the Japanese model truck suddenly swung open as if a ghost had ripped it open. Duo jumped in surprise and dug his fingers into the wheel, the bubble popping rudely on his face. "Jesus Christ on a cross! Don't scare me like that!" he snapped at the door and leaned over to close it. He was stopped when he saw who was standing there.

His hand was gripped around the outside handle, dressed in his pressed white shirt and tie, and a stern, quiet expression that spoke volumes of seriousness in perfectly blue eyes. Duo frowned. It would have been damned cute, if it hadn't been as irritating as shit.

"Stop following me, please." He thought he'd been asking so nicely before.

Heero put a foot on the metal step and elevated himself up so he could stare up at the con man. Not to be outdone, apparently. "Then deliver me."

Duo furrowed an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You said you were just a delivery boy, correct?" he asked. "Then deliver me."

"Hold on a second, traveler!" Duo reprimanded, sitting up so that he could earn a vantage over this persistent one. He lifted his hand quickly away and put it on the seat. There was no telling what this unpredictable thing was going to do next, after he had reappeared at the scene of the crime, tailed him no less, and then scared the living daylights out of him by suddenly appearing in his car. But somehow, he still found ways to top those and still piss him off.

"Listen to me, buddy—" Duo tried, but was soon cut off. He could tell his day was going to spiral downhill when the other man sat calmly down in the passenger seat and shut the door. On his shoulders, the bold black straps of a backpack caught his eye. Luggage.

"Hey, hey! What do you think you're doing, mister? Get the hell out of my truck, I didn't give you permission to be in here!"

"Not yet," he said, pulling a wooden clipboard from his backpack and handing it to Duo. At first, he didn't accept it, but Heero thrust it against his bent knuckles until he became irritated enough to snatch it up with a very unhappy grumble. "I want you to give me permission."

The criminal's bright blue-violet eyes flashed at him over the top of the clipboard. "And if I don't?"

The question, or threat, however one would interpret it, didn't seem to have the slightest effect on the stony resolve and stoic expression of the traveler. In fact, there was a slight of his lips before he began to speak that he took as a tiny sign of victory. It was irritating as well, he thought, narrowing his eyes at him.

"Then I leave," Heero said.

He looked at the Japanese man's face and studied it with the intent eye of a repeat offender, always watching for danger in the simplest expression.

"Why don't you tell me what this is really about, okay? You don't need to lie to me." Duo lifted an eyebrow in accusation. "And what kind of line was that, anyway?"

"A truthful one."

This time there was sarcasm. "Oh come on, mister! That line was so cheesy I could dip corn chips in it!" He scoffed. " 'Deliver me.' "

The con man accented that statement with a simple act of tossing the clipboard with attached permission slip back into his lap. Heero caught it, but the firmness of mind he possessed didn't fade an ounce. "Tell me what this is really all about and we might get somewhere."

Heero sighed calmly and adjusted the clipboard. The papers that had been wedged out of place were neatly organized and again offered up to the mercy of Duo's judgment, how ever irrational and irritated it may be. It was all he could do in the face of his situation, in light of his options left. Perhaps it was just infatuation, but there was a drive burning in him to finally convince this bohemian.

"You shouldn't worry about being turned in, Mr. Maxwell. I'm simply asking your permission, not trying to get you arrested." He nudged the clipboard toward him.

"How should I know?" Duo snapped back, keeping a safe distance and pushing the clipboard away again.

Although he could easily smell the honesty in every last syllable, there was still an undying suspicion with in him. Being trusting and naïve could only bring him death.

"Just tell me what you really want, okay?"

Heero paused, momentarily losing his grip in the simple pigment of the bohemian's eyes. "I want you to be the subject of my term paper." With a bout of renewed persistence and a stony flat expression, he again lifted the permission sheet toward the con man. The dark ink words were this time turned toward him, fresh and stark against the professional white paper.

"What?"

"You are a perfect example of misunderstood humanity. There is very little written on criminal behavior not from the eyes of a judge or completely outside force, or the actual convict himself that anyone has taken notice of. Earlier this week, I was assigned a term paper on humanity. I think I would like to write from the view of a simple observer, neither overly attached or overly distanced, about the psychology of a criminal," Heero explained in an objective tone, never wavering his gaze to anything but Duo's face.

"I would be your guinea pig?" he asked. In uncertainty, he lifted the clipboard from Heero's hands and flattened down the bent front corner, his eyes sweeping across line after line. The con man glanced back up to him once he had finished.

"Is that what this says? That if I sign this permission slip, I basically hand you the right to poke and prod me however you like?"

"No, I would just study you."

Duo lifted an eyebrow. "Study?"

"Watch you," he said simply, giving him a noncommittal shrug of the shoulders. "Observe how you behave, analyze how you speak and act and react to human stimuli—"

"In English, please," Duo pleaded at him, pressing the clipboard against his forehead. "I have a headache. There's only so much jargon I can absorb in the morning."

He obliged politely. "Basically, I would travel with you and write down what I observed about you."

"And you wouldn't breathe a word to the feds?"

"I'd be giving up my subject if I did."

"Why are you asking me permission?"

Heero answered unblinkingly. "It's school-related work. Completely standard."

"And my name would never see the printed page? Ever?"

"I'd give you a false name instead."

Duo lifted an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Heero shrugged. "Do you like the name Greg?"

The con man glanced up at this strange entity in his secrecy, this unmovable strange thing that kept coming back to bite him in the ass like a lick of bad karma. There was no reason to actually give him his trust, when he thought about it. So what if he had an abundance of intelligent words, keen blue eyes, and the most rapturous-smelling cologne he'd found in a long time? It was still no reason to hand himself over. Not after he'd been so successful in being on the run alone—not ever. It was no reason to let this unknown man into his life and allow him the opportunity to capture him. It would be so easy to, while he slept or stood unsuspecting somewhere, while he turned his back, just asking for a knife in the back. Then again, it was equally easy for Duo to kill him if the worse came to be. His stomach twisted at the thought of having to dispose of the traveler.

For a few quiet minutes, he analyzed the strange human sitting beside him carefully. Heero was happy enough to sit in silence as well, being investigated and contemplated in earnest.

Finally, Duo broke the silence. He lifted the wooden clipboard up and began to flip the pages humbly.

"Alright, where do I sign?"

"The bottom."

Duo sighed as he fished around in his pocket and eventually produced a ratty looking pen that had deep, violent-looking chew marks on the end. Gashes, almost.

"You must have some sharp teeth," Heero said absently to himself, mostly on instinct. The words had left his mouth before he realized he was even thinking it.

The con man looked at him. He was now leaning against the seat, his knee brought up and wedged in front of the steering wheel to act as a table, which he used to write on, although the wooden clipboard would have sufficed. For a second, there was fear in his expression. "What?"

"Your pen."

Duo whipped his head around to look at the mangled writing utensil. "Oh, that." An overly quick smile replaced any signs of apprehension on his face. "It's just a nervous habit, you know. Can't quit."

Heero snorted. "The first time the ink bursts in your mouth, you'll know how to quit," he said evenly.

The con man seemed to choose to ignore that and simply finished scribbling his name down at the bottom, over a printed dotted line. He flourished the last line of the final letter and ran to the edge of the paper. The clipboard soon was shoved back into Heero's possession with more than just a hint of smiling contempt so that the papers fell forward and covered his signature. He checked it once, making sure it was validly signed, and innocently slid it back into his backpack. Duo watched him, and frowned while the traveler closed the zipper and set the pack in his lap.

He could always kill him, right?

Duo folded his arms and leaned on the steering wheel. The engine was still humming loudly, waiting to roll into action. "So now I can't get rid of you, huh?"

"Sorry, but no," he answered. His head was tilted down while he finished opening another zipper on his black knapsack and pulled out a filled water bottle. It was then that Duo's mouth chose to remind him it was as dry as a Saharan afternoon.

"Even if you annoy me?" Duo asked, staring at the water.

The Japanese man twisted off the cap and lifted the bottle to his mouth, completely unaware of what he was doing to torture his subject. The crystal-clear water glinted brightly in the light from the window. He took a drink from it and rubbed at his head afterwards. "I promise to stay out of your way," Heero answered, slipping it back into a mesh pocket. "I'm only here to observe. You can tell me when I'm getting in the way of doing your job. I'll stop."

"Good." Duo grinned with only half-sincerity. "So, where to?"

"Anywhere," Heero grunted. The amount of affection for the city was obvious in his voice. "Anywhere you're going will be my new home. I don't care."

Duo looked at him quietly and paused as he reached down to shift into drive.

"There's nothing here for me anymore, either."

Though the Japanese man didn't see it, zippering up the water bottle half-heartedly, the con man smiled at him, genuinely smiled. He leaned against the steering wheel happily. "You need anything before we go?"

He looked back up at the bohemian, as he had dubbed him only to himself, and furrowed an eyebrow while lifting the other. "Not upset? You weren't the most delighted to see me only moments ago."

"Naw. I'm fine." Duo grinned a catty smirk and finally threw the truck into drive, the engine purring steadily beneath both their feet. "Besides, now I've got myself the relief driver I've been dying to get. You can take the wheel and I'll finally be free to get some sleep. When they said 'There's no sleep for the wicked', they really meant it."

Heero grunted sullenly. "Perfect."

But the nasty implied tone seemingly did nothing to hamper the bohemian's never ending abundance of grins and smirks, genuine or otherwise. That same thought returned to Heero's mind, one he'd thought upon first seeing the stranger with violet eyes. Was it all just some circus act?

"You're sure ya don't need anything?" He pulled the pack of watermelon-flavored bubblegum out from his pocket. "Hungry?"

Heero simply frowned in the direction of the candy, something he also avoided eating, and it was enough of answer for him. He swung his the moderate weight of his backpack over the seat and let it drop like a pile of bricks on top of the cot, lying on the stack of Duo's luggage. After disposing of his own luggage, he sighed tiredly to himself and rubbed uncomfortably at his eyes and temples. He began to haul himself over the scratchy fabric of the seat, careful to avoid hitting the ceiling of the truck in doing so, and Duo glanced at him curiously.

"Where're ya going?" he asked.

Heero glanced back at him over his shoulders and grunted back an answer a little less than gracefully. "I'm still hung over." And with that, he took his leave and clamored over the seat and flopped down onto the cramped cot. Two curious blue-violet eyes followed after him, analyzing and dissecting and questioning while simultaneously just watching in quiet. The heavy black baggage was shoved to the floor with a thump, creating room to make room for the Japanese man in his yuppie white shirt and tie to lie down.

He didn't even bother to even think about grabbing the fleece blanket at his feet. Sleep grabbed Heero Yuy and physically dragged him down to the pillow.


	6. Part 6 THE WALTZ

Part 6 THE WALTZ

Sleeping on the road had always been difficult for the young Japanese man. The hazy orange streetlights would pierce through his eyelids and cut into the black nothings of his dreams; the jarring would slowly shake him back to life and he would spend the remainder of the night praying for an early dawn. He'd never been overly disposed to a life on the move, always rooted down by the beautiful but cumbersome weights of wealthy and prominent parents. They had raised their son to have a peaceful home life that they hadn't been so fortunate as to have in their childhoods, and he never adapted to the idea of living in a moving car. It was something he had failed to think of once he'd made a decision to carry out with his plan. Perhaps it was because he had never been homeless, but whatever it was, it was different that night. Heero awoke a great while later to a still bed in an unmoving truck.

Uninterrupted sleep in the backseat of a vehicle. The idea was so strange to him that he momentarily didn't recognize where he was without Relena constantly barging in or rubbing his ankle.

The black fabric of his backpack, piled on top of the bohemian's luggage and wedged against the back wall, was the first thing to greet him, as opposed to his white bedroom walls. It was dark, and his eyes took a while to adjust enough so he see traces of light on the wall above him. He blinked for a moment and shook sleep off before sitting up.

With one look out the windshield, he could tell three things all at once. First of all, the brunet bohemian was missing, leaving behind an empty driver seat as proof. The second was the explanation for his absence. Roughly a hundred meters or so in the dimness of light, a truck stop glowed brightly with its fluorescent white lights and brightly lit gas pumps littered with a few lonely shipping trucks. Inside the café, the color and movement of people was obvious, one of them seemingly his new term paper subject. The last was that he'd slept for a disturbingly long time, judging from how dark the sky was, and the fact that it was flashing a green 4:20 on the electronic clock. He shook his head and took another look at the clock, hoping to find something more reasonable. When it didn't miraculously change, he sat back and frowned to himself.

He'd slept nearly fifteen hours. In a rapidly moving vehicle, no less. Something was wrong.

Heero lifted his backpack up into his lap while still in his clothes from yesterday and unzipped the main pocket. He paged quickly through the items in his bag, assortments of clothes, the permission clipboard, a school notebook nearly filled with notes, and a few primly-kept hardcover novels, and saw nothing had moved. Or otherwise, they'd been meticulously replaced. Heero's frown didn't lessen, but he then carefully inspected the other, smaller pockets and found his wallet and bills of money completely intact, identification and credit cards pristinely in place. Untouched by thieving hands.

He grunted unhappily, and found it hard to believe that nothing had been taken.

Just as he finally gave it a little acceptance, enough to push it from his mind momentarily, and sat up, he heard the truck door swing open. Distant sounds of semi engines and crickets sifted in as Duo's head popped in and he slid up onto the seat effortlessly. The shadows played on his dark clothing and seemingly made him a ghost who looked over the seat at him.

"Oh, you're awake!" Duo greeted happily, with no traces of sleep-deprivation in his voice or rings below his bright violet-blue eyes. In fact, he seemed bright awake and overly enthusiastic for a hunted criminal. Something to note for later. "So, did you get a good night's sleep, Mr. Yuy?"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes into his palm once to wake himself up completely. "I hate dealing with such pleasantries. Call me Heero, please."

"Alright," Duo agreed with a smile. He leaned back from hovering over the seat and slung his other arm causally over the wheel as if he were teenage rebel embodied. "I hope you're not so grumpy every morning. It'll be one long trip if you wake every morning with a stick already in your ass."

Heero pinned a sharp, calculating look on him, sitting up on the cot. The criminal stiffened ever so slightly.

"What?"

"You drugged me, didn't you?" the blue-eyed Japanese man said in a muted displeased tone.

The surprise only lasted a second before it was replaced with a half-cunning smile and short burst of laughter. Duo's entire face grinned at him in the dim shadows, punctuated by the distant, whitish-blue glow of the truck stop. "You're really sharp. I like that. Most people would be completely helpless to the situation, but no, not you. You've got a quick head."

He responded with a grunt, slumping his shoulders sullenly. "You went through my stuff as well."

"I only drugged you to reassure that you were being truthful to me," Duo said. "Had to check for weapons, federal badges, things like that. Make sure you weren't a thief. It was only for my precious protection."

"Reasonable," Heero grunted, though it was clear in his suspicious blue eyes that the thought of being helpless and ignorant to the con man's actions wasn't wholly comforting. "But you're still strange."

"Why's that?"

"I've never heard of any notorious con man who was afraid of burglary."

Duo smiled, one palm pressed against the side of his face, so it looked ridiculous and crooked. "Well, just because it's my profession doesn't make me immune to it."

Heero watched the display of overly white teeth and snorted back, shifting his eyes downward. "Hn."

"Actually, the tranq' wore off after an hour. You sleep the rest of the night away by yourself." A catty grin consumed the width of his face. "Mumbled things. Maybe you've got a few problems you'd care to get out into the open. Hm, traveler?"

"It's none of your business."

Duo flashed a smile and leaned back playfully. "Alright."

The brunet bohemian slid forward in the seat despite the hostile eyes set upon him as his moved and nudged the heavy door open with his black, mud-slicked boot, obviously a rental since he consciously ignored the grime and dirt he'd trekked inside like an animal. Again, the muffled noises of early morning commerce sifted in, and Duo looked back at him over his shoulder. Oddly enough, Heero observed, he still retained his dark black baseball hat on his sleep-disheveled brown hair, shielding off an angle of his face in the dimness.

"They're serving breakfast up there, you know."

The Japanese man snorted on instinct, ready to rebuke anything the entrancing criminal offered. He was here to observe, not be pillaged or swayed. Perhaps he was just always crabby before the sun rose, but he rolled over and laid down again. "No thanks," he grunted.

"Oh, I know you're hungry, traveler. You can't fool me."

In the darkness of the backseat, Heero felt abnormally long nails clench around a section of his white shirt and yank steadily. Even his dark tie got a few strong tugs of encouragement. He wasn't a dog, Heero thought to himself. Meanwhile, the impatient twitch in his throat slowly turned into a low growl. Damn, he never realized how little of a morning person he could be.

"Paging Mr. Yuy!"

"Fine," Heero grumbled finally, shielding his head tiredly with his arms.

"Come on!"

* * *

If only for show, if only to irritate him because of his lack of patience in the morning, Duo led him through the glass doors in the fluorescence of the truck stop straight up to the counter. He seemed starkly out of place as he walked ahead of him with a confident walk. Loose and comfortable clothing, usually bright t-shirts and jeans, characterize an American trucker, but Duo apparently had thrown away that memo. He wore a black sweater, with the sleeves rolled to the white at his elbows, and slim-fitting black pants. Even his baseball cap was a dark pitch of black that was unnatural in the lights of the truck stop.

They drew a few pairs of eyes up, but not many. It was still very early, and it wasn't filled to full capacity. The grungy, unkempt truckers that were there were struggling with the hours and half-asleep in their plates of scrambled eggs and French toast. Duo tried to be friendly and even waved at a few. Heero just followed behind, glancing around and looking irritable.

The con man slid easily on one of the red-leather seats and waited patiently for his new travelmate to take his own, sullen place beside him. He turned his head slightly and grinned at him, brown hair still unbound and free, half-tucked behind his ear. "It's on me."

"I wasn't going to pay," Heero mumbled.

Their short banter was cut even shorter when the early-shift waitress strolled up to the metallic, industrial-style counter with notepaper in hand. The bags under her eyes contradicted the inviting smile she found somewhere deep inside her reserves to plaster on for her customers' sake. "What would you fellows like?" she asked, in an accent Heero wasn't familiar with. How far had Duo exactly traveled while he slept?

Duo gave her a bohemian smile in return. Heero couldn't help but think he was peering at her candy red skirt through that cheeky grin. "We'll need a little more time. Thanks."

"Fine," she answered and promptly strolled back into the kitchen for what smelt like a quick smoke.

Once the employee had made herself scarce, the dim sounds of the truckers chewing and mumbling to each other and their newspapers and Duo turned that smug, feline smile to the traveler sitting next to him. "Don't worry. I wouldn't dream of leaving you with the bill," Duo said. "You're a guest." His hand lifted from his pocket and pulled a red-rimmed menu from the plastic holder sitting beside the ketchup and mustard. With a flare, he flipped it open and buried his nose in the morning choices.

"But you're a con man," Heero said finally, after watching all of that. "You sweet talk for a living."

Still reading intently, Duo's other hand extended to offer Heero a menu of his own to leaf through. "Oh, I'm sweet talking now, am I?"

"You know what I meant."

"The breakfast sausage is good here," Duo murmured complacently to himself, obviously ignoring him with all smarmy intent. "And the house special, too. Is it Thursday today? I'd absolutely love a good bowl of chunky beef stew!"

"Humor. Amusing."

"Who cares? I'm beautiful and flippant."

"Whatever," Heero said icily, lifting his own menu from the container and prying it free of a lob of gum stuck between the laminated pages.

Across the pages, it advertised the sloppy, greasy pleasure of the local favorite dishes, meaty Scandinavian foods that weren't all too attractive to a vegetarian. He skimmed through the pages, fully able to ignore his subject for a little while, and finally found something friendly to his tastes. A pancake dish with some butter and hashbrowns. Not one of his usual meals, but it would suffice for the moment. He couldn't afford to be picky in the questionable company that he was, lest Duo find expensive tastes something he wouldn't suffer to lose and simply dispose of the body properly. He glanced over at the criminal happily humming as he read.

It wasn't a very pleasant thought.

The waitress returned with her accent and two steaming coffees on a plate. They hadn't ordered any, but at this hour of morning, it was practically mandatory.

Duo was the first to react even though Heero had watched her approach from the kitchen door and busted open a charming smile as he accepted the coffee bravely in the palms of both hands. He sighed loudly and took a fearless kick back while Heero received his own. It burnt his hand the instant he touched it. Suspicious eyes turned to the con-turned-shameless-flirt.

"Thanks much, pretty miss."

She obviously didn't seem to care, though, when she flipped out the notepaper again, pen at the ready. Flirtation shields up.

"Are you two ready to order now?"

"Of course," Duo gushed.

He was doing it just to rub him the wrong way, he was sure of it.

Meanwhile, the criminal happily folded up his menu and handed it off. "Give me the breakfast steak, two eggs, sunny-side up, three slices of bacon, an order of sausage, two slices of toast, a tall glass of orange juice, and—Oh yeah, a shortstack with some strawberries, too, sweetie. Got all that?"

The waitress looked sourly at him, also sniffing out the hidden deliberate annoying tone in the brunet's voice and innocent deceit spread across his face. But she only gave him a momentary withering look and dutifully went to the task of writing down all of his selected meal and then turned to Heero with an expectant look that said, You'd better not think you're a smart ass as well.' And he returned it with one that sympathized, He's a nuisance, I know.'

"And you?"

"Pancakes and hashbrowns, just coffee, thanks."

"Any sausage with that?"

"No," Heero shook his head politely. "No thanks."

The blonde waitress then finished the list of orders with a flourish of her pen and a disinterested look to match, punching the lined green paper on a rotating silver tray of orders. Just past it, they could see glimpses of the kitchen and the single cook who shuffled back and forth with no discernable pattern. She quickly picked up the porcelain plate with steaming slops, order tab slipped underneath, and delivered it out to the booths populated one at a time. While she left, Heero instinctively followed her path with his eyes and soon came across the face of the con man grinning at him.

"What?" Heero asked.

"Nothing," Duo replied.

The bohemian's violet-blue eyes gleamed in a ridiculous ridicule smile at him for an instant, before he quickly snatched up his cup and began chugging animalistically from his black coffee and still managed to keep a certain charm about him. Heero simply snorted in his direction and carefully lifted his own mug.

For another five minutes or so, the two sat in relative peace and quiet, simply listening to the sounds and half-coherent complaints of the truckers to their recently-acquainted buddies and plates clinking and ovens sizzling in the background. There was peace between them. Duo did manage to find another nerve to grind upon, which was easy this early in the morning for a verified non-morning person.

With a strange rhyme and reason, he would casually brush through the condiment tray beside the half-empty ketchup bottle and line up all the coffee creamers. Then organize them by color, mix them up, organize them alphabetically, from French Vanilla to International and Irish Cream, shuffle them up again, and finally line them up according to extension of affection and stack them accordingly. Once he'd stabilized the entire height, he'd swipe his hand through them and knock it over so the creamers scattered like pawed dead mice.

Duo snickered, of course, and Heero tried his best to pay it no mind. Finally, the waitress returned and forced the annoying ritual into extinction.

She handed Heero his plate first, and it gave time for Duo to prepare. Hungrily, he snatched up his fork and such and held them at the ready. And when he received his own, he dug in without hesitation. The poor waitress just rolled her eyes and went to attend to the more important business of finishing her smoke.

After a few moments, Duo finally paused in constantly stuffing his mouth full and glanced over at Heero. He ate quietly and stared down only at his plate like he had nothing behind his blue eyes. The bohemian smiled to himself, took a quick drink of coffee, and set it down again. "Are you really that tired?"

"Yeah," Heero said, taking a drink from his own steaming coffee. "I'm not used to this kind of a schedule."

His eyes ran up and down him for a moment and the good mood dropped away. "So. How much can I trust you? And don't lie."

This caught Heero's attention. Perhaps it had been just the unnatural gumption and grins that had irritated him so much, because as he looked into the much sterner face of the con man Duo Maxwell, it seemed much more sincere and honest, as honest as a criminal's face could have been. He quit eating for a second, and mulled over his words briefly.

"As much as I think I can trust you."

"Hm," Duo grunted amusedly. "Do you really think that's a good decision?"

"I don't," the Japanese man answered honestly. "It may not be a good decision for either of us, actually."

"But here we are."

"Yeah."

The intense violet-blue pigment of the criminal's eyes again caught him off guard, looking at him almost pointedly from over a fork. "You can always turn back if you want. The offer is always there." Was Duo pleading with him? Asking him to go? Then why wouldn't he just say so? He wanted to interject, but those eyes pinned him down and demanded his infinite attention. "Just say the word."

"No thank you, I'm fine," Heero answered, with eyes closed. He turned back forward, taking a long, considerate draw from the warm, bitter coffee to slowly jolt himself awake. Meanwhile, Duo's eyes didn't seem to leave him for at least a few more seconds. After that, the wanted con man returned to his old mood of pleasant grins and dug right back into his breakfast.

It continued like that, in peace and quiet once more, until Heero finished his small pile of unadorned pancakes and finished the last of his black coffee. He indicated that he was headed for the small supply shop at the other end of the diner to his rather unwilling travelmate and left him with strings of egg white hanging out his mouth. Heero pushed the glass door open and listened to the solitary bell overhead. There wasn't a man behind the counter; he was adjusting some items in the window before the daily rush hour of customers, which had to be sometime in two hours or so. The short, dark-skinned man nodded at him, and Heero nodded back. Inside, he strolled around and shortly found what he was looking for. Notebooks.

He bought a thick-bound three-subject notebook, college ruled, of course, and a few reliable-enough pens to write with, since he very well didn't want to borrow Duo's, and paid for it at the counter. The cashier made some short, pleasant small talk with him and they parted on a warm, professional note.

Upon returning to his red barstool beside Duo, he sat down and set his supplies down on the counter beside his empty plate. The fork and spoon were crossed meticulously and suspended on the rim of the porcelain plate; the half-crumpled napkin was placed beneath them. The empty, black-ringed mug sat to the side as well. Once he'd cleaned up sufficiently, Heero turned to look at the con man sitting beside him, noticing that he'd stopped moving and therefore must have finished wolfing down his breakfast.

The plate, littered with sauces and juices and scraps of what had been a mountainous pile of food, sat alone and dirty, the napkin beside it equally stained. Something seemed wrong though. As Heero looked up to Duo's face, he saw that he definitely had quit smiling for the moment. In place of a grin, he had a very grim, dark look about him beneath suspicious eyes. His head was half hung, and his nose twitched ever so unobtrusively back and forth. Sniffing.

"Duo? Is something—"

"Wait," he warned quietly under his breath, eyes flickering up. "Do you smell that? It's gunpowder."

"Gunpowder," he repeated skeptically.

The criminal nodded. "A lot. And it's not me."

Heero took the hint from his travelmate's darkened eyes to keep his tone low and inconspicuous, along with his volume. It seemed essential now that they sound conversational and keep the edges off their voices. "So someone recognized you, then?"

"They must have. Unless the average Joe Trucker always keeps three loaded guns with him."

Another sweep of Heero's blue eyes around the room still produced the same image. Quiet, sleepy truckers enjoying their morning coffee, passing out in their omelets from sleep deprivation. "Are you sure? There's no proof that they're hunting you. No one here is even awake. It could be just a coincidence."

Over the ruse of taking a deep sip of coffee, the violet-blue eyes flashed dangerously at him. "Haven't you ever heard the saying, There are no coincidences'?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Heero droned back. "Don't you think—"

Suddenly, the warm weight of the bohemian's hand squeezed down on his own, and Heero suddenly had a newfound attention span. Eyes of hidden spitfire and a twisted mouth lashed back at him. "Don't you think I know what I'm doing? If you didn't happen to know, I've only survived like this for so long because I know exactly when to follow my gut," Duo hissed, still keeping his voice barely audible. Heero flinched, as bohemian warmth shot up the length of his arm and every muscle in its wake tensed.

"You're in my custody now. When I say, Run,' you say, How fast?'. Got it?"

Amazingly, he'd managed to keep all of his impassioned words well beneath his breath so that only the man who was pulled close to him would ever hear, and would hear those words very, very plainly.

"Understand?" Duo asked, the sharpness of fear never leaving the edges of his eyes. "Heero?"

The Japanese man nodded as the stern hand left and wrapped once more around the ruse of a caffeine-urge. "Good." The criminal glanced around warily, analyzing the faces and constantly twitching his nose.

Heero realized that it was the first time he'd heard the bohemian say his first name without tacking some brash nickname over it, like Traveler. His eyes carefully watched the profile of Duo's face, now furrowed and suspicious, lacking all the pleasantries but none of the raw charm. Angered paranoia didn't become him.

"Let me handle it."

Duo looked back at him, eyes wide, mouth filled with steaming black coffee. "Hmm?"

The expression solidified on the traveler's face. "Head to the truck. If anyone tails you, I'll stop them."

Duo quickly swallowed his beverage and set the porcelain mug down, quirking the unmerited attention of a few men in the shop, unknown to the furtive two seated at the counter. His bright eyes flickered back and forth, testing the traveler's distinctly Asian face for any signs of panic or apprehension, but only found they were stony and half-distant as always. He scowled unpleasantly. "There's no need to put yourself in danger's way just for my sake."

"Same to you." Heero met every ounce of stubbornness with his own.

Duo gave him a disapproving frown for an only a moment, before the traces of a grin broke through to the surface. "You're impossible."

"You're not my idea of cooperation, either."

This struck a humorous nerve somewhere. A bohemian smile flashed in his direction, and Duo boldly kicked back the last drops of coffee. Sliding the mug away, the criminal said, "Fine. Then nail em for me."

With that, the warm, benevolent and social traces in the brunet man's face and manners were suddenly replaced with a starkness that was a bit shocking to see for the first time. Every last movement was precise and feral down to the last blink of the eye, all placed carefully in the best interest of survival.

He pushed the empty plate away, rattling the loose silverware, and turned on the barstool before sliding off silently. Heero watched him, scooping up his own coffee, and was a bit in awe of how cold and silent the once bubbling bohemian was as he pushed open the door and slipped into the darkness. It was unnerving, at the least. For a few more moments, after the door swung shut again, there was no movement. Heero watched patiently, taking guarded glances around at each of the faces, but was quick to avoid any eye contact. He had the feeling that a few were getting ready to move, but he hadn't yet pinpointed them.

"Excuse me, sir."

The sound of the waitress's voice pulled his attention around, and saw her standing there with a fresh, round pot of black coffee at the ready, steam pouring from the spout. He waved her off politely and quickly whipped his head around again once she'd strolled off. And cursed to himself.

Two of the truckers seeming had found it convenient to disappear just then, leaving a visible gap in the population. There were scattered bills and coins spilled around the plates of half-eaten, steaming food, two separate tables in all. The tinny bell above the door trilled innocently; the smudged glass door casually swung close. Heero restrained himself from cursing out loud and quickly found himself digging through his pockets. Luckily, he had a twenty-dollar bill and hurriedly stuffed it halfway beneath a porcelain plate. He said, "Keep the change," before stuffing the notebook and pens under his arm and quickly showing himself the to the door.

Duo had ended up making him pay anyway. Insidious con man.

* * *

Ahead of him, he could hear the slow, deliberate tread of predacious feet in the darkness. Once he'd turned the corner and slowed in order to walk in necessary silence, he saw a glimpse of clothing disappearing into the lines of sleeping semi-trucks. Since their brief breakfast, the darkened parking lot behind the truck stop had filled with the looming dark shapes of vehicles from end to end. The humbleness of the dark Isuzu was easy to spot besides the towering semi-trucks, though it was obvious the bounty hunters were uncertain as to which was Duo's. As for the charming bohemian, he'd long disappeared into the cover of night. There was no need to worry about that. He was certain Duo could hide himself well enough, with those Machiavellian eyes of his, but his ability to defend himself was what Heero was concerned with. Losing his subject simply wasn't acceptable at this point.

Heero waited until he was sure enough, a split-second at the most, and began to stalk down the bounty hunters' paths. That's what they had to be. Where'd he last seen them, they were nearly six trucks away from Duo's, but they seemed to be able enough to track Duo himself and probably didn't know which was his truck.

He quietly crossed the parking lot and caught a glimpse of the hunters' feet beneath the trucks and hid one down from them. Before they could turn the corner and spot him, he ducked under a grungy-looking white semi, crouching just beside the large spare tire suspended beneath it. He put his hand against it and looked out again. There were two, one wearing high, dark leather boots and another in jean-covered sneakers, each treading quietly. Beyond that, it was too dark to see if he could spot Duo's own feet, but that may have been a good thing. He put his thick, red notebook on the spare tire to retrieve later and slipped out silently, always watching the pair of feet ahead of him.

Another thing he'd failed to think of was the possibility of guns. Duo was a criminal, and more times than not, criminals had weapons, so it would be only natural to bring your own if you were hunting one. Heero had sufficient training in self-defense that he could stop any full-grown, unarmed man, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to dodge a few bullets from a semi-automatic, let alone three as Duo had claimed.

But then again, he doubted Duo could, either. And that was his motivation, wasn't it?

So in the darkness, pierced only by the distant white lights, he slunk up to the side of the next looming semi-truck, hiding his feet behind the wheels and listening. The hunters shuffled on the other side, tracking their prey. He could hear traces of conversation, the men whispering between each other with less than absolute confidence. So, they couldn't find him, huh? That thought brought a momentary smile to Heero's face, but he dropped it when one of the hunters gave a short victorious grunt, whispering, "That's him!"

"Good, but do you think what the police said was true? He's a—"

"Hey! You're not backing out on me now, are you?"

"No, John."

"Good. On the count of three, then."

Heero scowled, and quickly pressed his back to the cold metal, readying himself. He slunk silently around the back end, tiptoeing through patches of dirt-brown slush and avoiding all noise, still intently listening for the scuffs of the bounty hunters' movements.

"Three"

Heero narrowed his eyes and took a last deep breath before he whirled around the corner.

* * *

"Two" The taller of the two men, a sharply-cut man of mixed southern European descent, said to his long time friend and college acquaintance. Slightly pudgy and marked with fear by the lines of sweat dripping down the side of his face, he nodded and raised the two semi-automatics he wielded. This more inexperienced man with dark features pressed his back tightly against the cold metal and carefully watched his friend's face for reassuring qualities. Confidence, bravado, unlike his unsettling nerves. He'd never actually hunted another man, especially such notorious prey as they had. But his comrade was stony-faced and self-assured.

"Now!" John whispered, jerking to round the truck and corner their bounty while his partner would go the other direction and create a trap.

"Thanks for the countdown, _boys_."

The men only had time to grunt in surprise at the whispery, sinuous voice hanging above their ears before rough and capable arms cut off their mouths and hauled them silently into the air.

* * *

And he found himself faced with a span of very empty, cold and wet blacktop. Heero fully had expected a pair of less-than-affable men with weapons to give him startled looks followed by hateful glares and volleys of bullets, but found nothing. Not only was it surprising, and a bit unnerving, but also very much physically impossible. Even if the hunters had found some inexplicable reason to suddenly flee, Heero was certain he'd be able to hear their footsteps or glimpse them as they left. He crept forward and glanced around warily, suddenly feeling the urge for a weapon. There was a dangerous presence around him. Or it could have just been paranoia.

A few doubts were cleared up when the man in the high leather boots suddenly pitched down from the sky and fell at Heero's feet, but he was still radically confused. The man, obviously unconscious, lay facedown in a thin puddle of oil and water, with large red gashes and bruises along his head. Which of the many, only a few seemed to be from impact. Heero quickly pried the gun away from his pudgy fingers and lifted it when he whipped his head around to determine where the raining man had come from. That's when he heard the sounds of struggle cry out; a wail of pain from what sounded to be the sneaker-wearing bounty hunter.

On the top of the semi-truck, set against the blackness of the early morning sky, he saw the disheveled top of "John" seemingly scampering away from another person in desperation, one whom Heero couldn't see from his standpoint. A flurry of footsteps followed, loud on the metal roof, and the bounty hunter cried out in pain, trying to lash out at his attacker. He lost that scuffle, apparently, because his pair of identical black guns scattered to the ground, landing on top of his unfortunate friend. Heero ducked when the guns fell from the sky, and quickly decided to step back for a better view.

But it was unnecessary. It was already over. A lashing foot whirled from the right and caught him in the face, sprawling him to the top of the truck. The eyes of the bounty hunter were rolled under, as his head lolled off the edge of the roof with blood spilling openly from his nose and mouth. Heero winced and looked up to the victorious party, standing there and panting.

Duo surveyed the damaged and looked to Heero, displaying a victorious smirk. "Well, glad you finally decided to come along. Things were getting a little boring around here."

"Sarcasm noted," Heero said flatly. "It seems you didn't need any of my help."

"Well, I appreciated the offer at least."

"However useless it may have been?" Heero asked skeptically, giving a challenging look to the jaunty bohemian on the top of the truck. The criminal's face was pale and defiantly charming in the shadows above, grinning so that his teeth looked sharp and almost wicked.

"Pessimist," Duo teased him with a smile. "What good does it do to think like that, huh?"

Heero shot him a flat, unamused look, still holding the cold metal of the weapon in his hand with the unconscious bounty hunter lying behind him. Meanwhile, the lanky-looking criminal strolled up to the other and flashed him another smile of victory that he did not see. "Alright mister, surely you have some gifts for me. I just hope I haven't caused you to bleed all over them." He laughed to himself. "Pity. And that looked like such a nice flannel shirt, too."

He quickly hunched down onto his rather healthy haunches and frisked through his jacket and pockets with skills clearly polished over the course of many years and managed to pull a significant wad of money out and put it in his own pocket. After doing so, he smiled insolently and patted the unconscious man's cheek as if he were thanking him for his generosity. Heero frowned up at him, and watched the shadow of a man slip down from the top of the semi-truck. Duo landed silently a few feet away from him and stood up and simply dusted off his pristine dark clothes, also flattening his shoulder length hair.

"What?" Duo said, when he looked up and discovered Heero standing stone still, regarding him with a sharp eye. He sighed outright at the expression and seriousness seeped into his tone again.

"Alright. It's time to decide, traveler. I tried my damnedest to warn you what would happen if you hung around, but you declined. If you don't hop off the sinwagon now, it'll be nearly impossible later on." The power in his violet-blue eyes didn't diminish either, in the dim contrast of distant glowing lights and very real shadows. In fact, it was stronger. They almost seemed to glow unnaturally.

"So, what's it gonna be?"

It didn't take more than a few moment's consideration for Heero find a very fitting answer. He turned around, facing the unconscious lump of a man, and snatched up the two other guns from off his back. With the greatest elegance, the Japanese man shoved them into Duo's hands and knew it would suffice.

"Well, say no more." Duo smiled. "Let's get the fuck out of here."


	7. Part 7 MUSIC IN DARKNESS

Part 7 MUSIC IN DARKNESS

And that's what they did. After a quick dash back to the spare tire, Heero retrieved his supplies and was climbing back into the cabin as Duo had fished out his keys and turned the engine over. It was still dark, and the contrasts of shadow and distant, stark white gas station lights were playing strangely on the criminal's face when he crawled over into his spot in the passenger seat, notebook in his lap. Duo, however, was wise enough not to waste any more time hesitation at anything. He sufficiently gunned the engine and pulled the Isuzu truck out from the anonymous line of semi-trucks, pulled it out of the parking lot so that he struck the curb when turning, jolting the entire truck. Heero nearly pitched forward, but recovered himself and gave a quick disapproving glance over to his driver. The man whom he'd practically handed his safety over to, now jumping curbs and swinging recklessly into the opposite lane and swerving back before he collided with the glaring lights of another vehicle pulling into the station. Horns blared at him, and Duo angrily laid on his own in return.

Duo seemed a little rattled, but he masked it behind a blank, smiling face. After they had traveled a few hundred meters down the dark, emptied road, he finally gave a sigh of relief, hands loosening on the wheel. He looked over to Heero, mostly to confirm that he was still there and still alive, and offered a half-anemic smile.

"That was fun," he said.

Heero scowled. "That's your idea of fun? I'd hate to see what you call dangerous." He shifted uneasily, glancing once in the sideview mirror. "You're not worried about them following you?"

"Listen," Duo said, raising a finger as if making a point, "I couldn't give a rat's ass about them anymore. They're beat. They got their asses sorely kicked, and we'll be long gone before they wake up. Even if I weren't there, I'm sure you could have taken care of them."

He was still scowling. "I think you're just being reckless and irresponsible with both of our lives."

"Funny. I thought it was responsible enough to haul your ass around and haul it outta danger." Duo's smile was viciously friendly in the dark light.

"That's not what I meant," Heero defended with a slight in his voice. "I'm concerned about my well-being as well. If it was more than mere coincidence that they recognized you and they were tracking you, then I don't think you shouldn't have allowed them to live."

Duo laughed harshly. "You wanna decide who lives and dies? I'm not like that, okay?" Duo said finally, pinning a caustic look to Heero's face. It sufficiently silenced the traveler.

"You can't just stereotype me as some common criminal. Killing's just not my style. I would like to go without it if I could, but apparently the rest of the world doesn't want to cooperate, and I'm sometimes forced to do unpleasant things. Not my fault, in my eyes," he added jeeringly.

Heero reluctantly remained silent, his eyes absorbing it all solemnly.

The con man, clearly steadied enough to convert back to his old humor, leaned down and flicked on the radio, causing the green lights flashing 4:56 A.M. to glow brighter and a sudden jolt of playful and half-obnoxious distorted chords to leap out and assault Heero's ears like they hadn't been for a while, at least. Hn. Punk rock. What else would a deviant want to listen to? Heero recognized it vaguely as a song he'd heard some high school punk blaring on his car stereo as he had passed Heero walking home and accidentally swerved into a fire hydrant. Perhaps it caused reckless driving. And in that case, he wasn't sure if it was safe to influence Duo's already questionable driving practices.

After a few minutes of listening to the provided karaoke, Heero became disinterested and flipped open his brand new notebook. The white paper, thinly lined, stared up at him just as he stared down at it.

Overhead, the intermittent glow of murky orange streetlights shone like distant beacons, along the empty, lonely stretch of highway. They would shine down on Heero's face for an instant before whirling away and being left behind. It was a lonely sensation to behold, light after light. And in his lap, the blank, lifeless paper was still calling to him. Duo still was singing rather boldly, matching every strong note for note with the bands that followed one after the other. And Heero was trying to find a place to start.

His head was swimming, nearly overloaded with everything. This wasn't normal, not normal at all. To be here, in the custody of a criminal, to be putting himself at the mercy of a proven con man and more than capable assailant, to be sitting beside him, to sleep only feet from him. It was impossible to imagine, yet it was reality. And not only that, it was strange to be constantly thinking of him. To be so involved with his activities as to analyze and write about his movements, his thoughts, his reasons, his actual life. To think of his voice, the way it always seeped around his brain so inconspicuously, to think of his razor-white smile, to think of the cunning blue eyes that changed from emotion to emotion like a pair of glittering mood rings. Nothing was quite right here. Laughable, almost, to think at all.

He glanced over again, and Duo still was singing, proclaiming each note with a very visible Adam's apple. Not half-badly, either.

But still, he couldn't just sit here and not know anything of his captor.

So he closed the notebook again with no place to really start it anyway. He slipped it to the side of him, sitting on the seat, and limply set his hands on his knees, just watching his subject. After a few seconds, as he knew he would, Duo noticed Heero staring at him and quit at the erratic interlude of a song. He could tell from the serious, little half-stubborn expression that the traveler wanted to ask him something of relative importance, so he turned down the volume so it sifted into the background.

"What's up, Heero? Somethin' wrong?"

"What happened to your hair? It was significantly longer when I saw your warrant." As a second indicator, his eyes shifted to the relatively short, chestnut brown tresses that hung around his shoulders.

"Oh, that?" Duo gave him a mild look of surprise. There were slivers of disappointment, as well that didn't escape Heero's radar. "I was forced to cut it nearly a week ago. You know, security issues. I was simply becoming to recognizable with it and it was either my hair, or my freedom."

"Hn," Heero said to himself, thinking for a second and raking his eyes along the bohemian's chestnut brown hair. "It might throw off your pursuers. You look different without it."

The con man's face lit up mischievously. "How about better?"

Heero snorted to himself and avoided the answer by folding his arms and settling back into the seat. "It must have taken a long time to grow it." His eyes settled on the ever moving blur of dark slick blacktop beneath the wheels, punctuated by the streetlights centered on a cement separator that caused the thin sheets of water to glow brilliant shades of orange as they passed. "And it must have been difficult to part with. You must have been attached to it to keep it as long as you did."

"Yeah," Duo sighed, rubbing gently the side of his face, "but I cut it to survive. As much as I loved it, I still knew it was too conspicuous to have if I wanted to avoid being caught. I don't think it would be better to be pretty on the execution stand than a little ragged-looking and still alive."

Heero wondered where he got the idea that forging a few checks and deceiving with a few well-placed smiles and liberating some funds would get him anywhere near capital punishment. He furrowed his eyebrow, and the more he thought of it, the harder it became to understand. He could accredit it to just general paranoia or some quip of dark humor, but there was nothing but honesty in his expression when he said it and even traces of fear. There was no way that Duo should be even considered for such extreme punishment unless he'd committed murder of some sort.

He could have killed the two bounty hunters and been rid of their stalking forever, with more than four guns between them and their unconscious attackers, but he hadn't. He'd left them there, bloodied, bruised and unconscious, but still very much alive. It was impossible for him to think of Duo as a cold-blooded killer when he had returned his stolen watch, accepted his questionable preposition, offered him breakfast, and always made it clear of the danger he would be in in the bohemian's company. Protected him.

Duo was looking at Heero again, once the truck had straightened out along a straight stretch of road that cut through a grassy, unused wheat field. "I still have it, you know."

"Really."

"Really," Duo confirmed, jabbing a finger vaguely in the direction of his luggage. The bohemian displayed an affable, warm smile as he replayed on his memories. "In my backpack. Still braided, too. I didn't want it falling into federal hands or anything, and I missed it having it around, so to speak, so I thought I'd keep it for myself. Cut it myself, too. A pair of scissors, a sixty-nine cents at some thrift shop I was cruising for pockets to pick."

"You're not bitter about it?"

"What, my hair?"

Heero nodded solemnly, eyes still analyzing every last inflection that he could find, always looking for that telltale sign that would prove him so fatally wrong about his image of the bohemian, the con man, the man on the run. But it eluded him still. Duo rested an elbow in the curve of the steering wheel and propped a knee against it as well, leaning back into the seat. And another white, charming smile.

"It was my decision to cut my hair. There's no one to blame there."

"Yes," Heero said, nodding his head of disheveled dark hair in agreement. "But because of your warrant for arrest, you were forced more or less to get rid of it. You're not angry about it?"

In the fleeting orange cast, there was a momentary glitch in the infallible bohemian grin. The smooth, blue presence of his eyes flickered for a second and was replaced by the endless stare of memory revisited. The jaunty angle of his smile dulled an inch. "About my hair, no."

Heero decided to retract from that subject. "What are you going to do, now that you've slipped into the media spotlight? They're not going to relent the search for you if you keep conning people."

"Don't know," Duo shrugged as he glanced at the road, with an alarming amount of nonchalance about the future of his very existence, his survival. Heero almost flinched at the indifference he heard, and furrowed his eyebrow in what may have appeared to be anger and confusion on the outside.

"Can't you just go clean? I mean, you must have someplace to go to—"

Duo slowly turned to meet his eyes. It was unnerving to seem so pacified and neutral as he did, with a half-deceitful muse of a smile. "Why do you care, Heero?"

"I'm just asking," Heero lied.

"If you have to know," the bohemian said, with an unnatural edge to his voice, "no, I don't. I don't have a home and if there was a chance in Hell that I could go clean, I would have done so a long, long time ago." Although he couldn't pinpoint it, there was a sudden twist in the center of Heero's stomach at the cold tone. Threatening, almost. "And I'd rather if you would stay away from personal questions like that, thanks. Not everything, but I'd appreciate leaving the important stuff, like my family and my home, alone and anonymous. You understand."

Heero nodded, and the harsh edge lightened a little. The light in his eyes was slightly more innocent, a little less lethal-looking. "It's not something I discuss," Duo explained. "With anybody."

The criminal's eyes locked with his for only an instant, as he had the responsibility of watching the road, and were so raw and honest for a split second that Heero wasn't sure he was even there, sitting beside him, watching it. But it only lasted for a second, before the volume knob was turned again, sufficiently putting up a wall between him and the overly-sensitive questions he'd asked of the bohemian. Heero decided that he had cut too close to bone with the last and the last thing he really needed was to find himself in less than favorable companionship with a criminal, a notorious one who had no problems easily downing armed, grown men. At that thought, he quickly shifted his eyes away and settled on his blank paper again.

But he still couldn't write.

The road curving out before them, highlighted by the white glow of the headlights, cut through some mildly forested areas, slowly climbing higher as they left the city further and further behind them. There was no way to gauge how far Duo had sped the night before while he had slept for an unnatural fifteen hours, so Heero was unsure if they were still in the same state. The Japanese man sighed, while Duo vibrantly struck up a new chorus to the swinging punk on the radio, and propped his elbow on the window. Blurs of dark, forest green and dim, blue-black patches of sky whirred by silently, beside the noise from the driver. He let the notebook lie limp in his lap until it almost slipped out of his grasp, jarred by the imperfections in the road, and he shut it and pushed it on to the seat beside him. There was no use in holding it if he still couldn't stop the mild swimming sensation in his brain. None of this was normal, hardly any of it sane at all. But yet, despite every textbook rule, every straight, structured line in his head screaming in agony, there was still this undeniable urge to follow the criminal, if only to selfishly save himself from his own life.

Duo, meanwhile, glanced down at the half-discarded notebook; the red cover flipped open to expose empty lines. He made an unpleased face and leaned over quickly.

Heero heard a shuffling noise and shifted to look with his chin still in his palm. He was a little surprised to see his notebook in his face, being offered by Duo. He turned confused eyes toward it, then looked skeptically up to his term paper subject, smiling at him.

"Oh come on, man. You don't have to be afraid to ask me stuff, though."

The Japanese man shot him a half-barbed flat look, a little insulted somewhere in his chest that he could see in those violet bohemian eyes an expression that was calling him a sulking baby. But eventually, he took his notebook. "It's not that." Heero's eyes were still narrow while he lied. "I just don't know what to write. I'm not quite fully awake."

"What, after all that excitement? Maybe you need another fifteen-hour nap, huh?" The brunet con man casually steered with the crook of his elbow and patted his pant pocket with his other arm. "I have a few more tranquilizers if you want em. They pack a kick."

"No thanks," he replied flatly.

"Well then, don't just mope in the corner like that! — Ask some questions! That's why I'm towing along, aren't I?" Duo quipped, violet eyes grinning at him simultaneously in the intermittent orange lights. "Think of yourself as my temporary traveling biographer."

Heero managed a glare in the fortitude of the Maxwell reservoir of smirks and feline looks, but still relented. He repositioned his notebook on his lap again and flipped open to the first page, the dreaded first blank lines, with his pen at the ready between his long fingers. After reading himself, he looked up dully to the face of the criminal, and grunted. "It doesn't change the fact I have writer's block."

"No matter," Duo grinned. "You don't have to have some fancy questionnaire. I'll talk. You just write."

Heero wondered once again how much of a good idea this really was.

"So, what do you want to know?"

* * *

Like he had promised with his mouth and constantly affable grin, Duo faithfully answered each of his questions as long as they kept safe distance from his personal history; a subject that would promptly cause lethalness to seep in to his dark violet-blue bohemian eyes. It was suspicious, but still the lithe con man was probably more dangerous than Heero could afford to offend, and paid his suspicions no more mind. Over the constant wash of rock and roll, Duo would rattle off long, often sarcasm- and humor-littered answers. They tended to be rambling, half-morbid, and overly graphic with violence details, but they were unadulterated truth, and that's all he really expected. Heero scribbled basic facts; it was a study of criminality, he listed the details of each of the intricate cons and ingenious scams that Duo boasted, always with a bitterly white grin. The date, the amount of money or the type of spoils he received, and his multiple aliases he'd donned over the years. He wrote down the places he'd been, and both the wide and narrow escapes he'd made from authorities. The clashes with other criminals he'd had, the insanely secure places he'd infiltrated, the multiple ill-tempered bar brawls and street fights he'd either initiated or joined in. It was all data and it was all to be considered essential until Heero later went back and picked out what he wanted. Editing came last. This was raw information.

But it was the motives that interested him the most. Not only for the sake of the report, but for his own wandering thirsts for information. It was morbidly fascinating, in a way, to witness the absolution of Duo's eyes when it came to honesty and then wonder how he could be such a efficient criminal. He was still, in a sense, ruthless. No sanctity of a business or cultural norm was too holy for the radical Duo Maxwell. He would strike with zero prejudice. He could go from embezzlement of funds of a senior citizen fund behind the ruse of baking bread at a retirement home, to cold, distant check fraud, to grand theft, to pickpocket, to dark-alley robberies, with equal prowess and distinction. He was also a strange criminal. Not once had he heard of a murder or violent crime against a person. His resume, as he told it, was completely comprised of either property or victimless crimes. No record of killing another human being. So why had he feared execution? It was the single most itching question on the tip of Heero Yuy's tongue, but he feared that it cut too close to home and held back.

Duo often gave the explanation that he was only in town for a few days and didn't mean any true harm. He just needed to borrow the money until he finished his earthly business and then he would take his punishment in whatever Hell he would receive upon leaving this world. It worried Heero, to listen to the dark reasoning, but he was only writing. He had no right to interrupt. He faithfully scribbled it down and quietly circled it in his black-ink pen. Duo, once he'd sufficiently covered all the bases of fact, began to rattle on about little innate things, and flashed cocky grins to no one in particular. False ones. Heero quit following along in dictation when he felt a sharp pain in his writing and stopped to nurse it. He slipped his notebook, now filled with lines of sharp, precise ink for nearly seven pages, onto the seat beside him. Duo had quiet a few exploits that even the government weren't crafty enough to detect right beneath their noses.

With one hand on the steering wheel, the bohemian shot a swift glance down at the notebook and shot an even swifter hand out towards it while the traveler carefully massaged his aching hand. The corner peeled back playfully, as Duo leaned across the seat, ignoring the fact that his vehicle was currently speeding down a populated freeway.

"So, whaddiya write about me? Are you a mudslinger or a yellow journalist, or some shifty-tongued Inquirer writer? Come on now, lemme see it," he purred as he peeled back the red cover, ignoring the loud blaring of horns that he repeatedly received.

Heero quickly replaced his hand on it, or slapped his hand down on it to be liberal, and pulled it away from the clutches of the brunet bohemian. "No," he said, feeling awfully like a toddler immaturely hogging a precious toy or lollipop, or something ridiculous like that. He wondered if the con man knew if he could

"Why? Are you afraid?" Duo smiled slyly as if he'd told a wonderful joke.

"Watch the road."

"Don't worry about it." Duo sat up, with elbows cocked in the air and all ten thieving fingers laced behind his head. The deviant man propped up his right knee in place of two perfectly capable hands and advertised his smugness across his face. "I'm an excellent driver."

Heero snorted. "I'll be sure to tell the mortician that you were."

The bohemian gave a little round of laughter and it stirred up mixed feelings for the college student. "If I die in some tragic car accident, I'll probably be taking you with me, Heero. Sorry to say, but you can kiss that morgue visitor's pass goodbye. You'll have an appointment."

"Comforting to know." The Japanese man shifted his eyes back toward the window, where his elbow had again found a resting spot and cradled his chin unobtrusively, gazing out into the landscape. Pale, dim blue and violet light was seeping through the clouds and chasing off the silk black of night. Pre-dawn light gleamed on the passing cars and buildings as they passed through a small commute city. Unseen, Duo sported a silent raspberry and grinned playfully at Heero's back, at the nape of his neck, examining the half-wild dark brown locks of hair with his eyes. The dark hair he'd been abstained to touch upon the initial seduction. It was a standard practice, a staple of an attractive pickpocket's resume. Simply distract, and slip jewelry off them while you whisked their minds so easily away with foreplay. The memories of an alcohol-stricken traveler, disheveled in his yuppie clothing and fiercely aimless blue eyes, made him smile.

Suddenly, Heero sat up, jolted in his seat, and lifted his head from his palm. His eyes flashed quickly over to Duo's face, plastered on to his own, and were rimmed by uncomfortable white. "Uh, Duo?"

"Yeah...?" the con man asked, more pleasantly than usual. "Oh, shit!"

Duo managed to catch the steering wheel and throw it back, inching the truck agonizingly back into safety before it had a chance to swing completely over into the suicide lane and slice into an Impala that blared like a startled heifer at the hand of a frightened driver. The blatant sound of the startled horn slowly faded off and the criminal caught a few gasping breaths before he settled his hissing nerves. They had straightened out onto the road safely. Although it was quiet convenient to have the senses that he did, a drawback was the fact that his adrenaline would spike higher and last longer, lingering in his veins and pounding around his brain. And even worse than that was the reason he'd been so distracted.

Heero just looked at him across the cabin. "Let me guess. Rescheduled."

Duo tossed him a flimsy thumbs-up sign.

Soon after that, the sun inched closer to the horizon, as the tunes spilling from the electronic radio continued, occasionally cranked up at the appearance of one of the con man's favorite songs. After the morning jolt, the bump with death, Duo had grown quiet. It was apparent to see that I'd startled him, and offset whatever had been separating him from his exhaustion. The amount of light increased and the sun peaked over the horizon, golden red. That meant Heero could finally discern the dark rings under Duo's eyes. Without coffee and after a fitfully eventful early morning, it was stirring up some serious doubts in the passenger.

Heero stopped scribbling in his notebook and shut it quietly in his lap. By now, the fatigue was gleaming in the bohemian's unnaturally pretty eyes and visibly ground down his driving skills.

"Duo."

Eyes half-lidded and slack-jawed, Duo responded to his name by trying to plaster on a courtesy grin by pure instinct. "Yeah, what's up? Something wrong?"

"You've been up all night, haven't you?"

"So—o?"

"You're tired."

"Well, sorry to break it to ya," Duo said, slumping against the wheel, "but no shit."

"Let me drive for a while," Heero said, offering very little argument in his tone. "You're about to fall asleep at the wheel and kill us both."

The brunet bohemian, his shoulder-length hair looking mangled and tired in the abundance of morning light, jerkily laid back against the seat. His once fluid, feline inflections and mannerisms were now closer to that of a slightly tipsy old man. "I was jus' joking bout the fill-in driver thing, you know. You don't hafta."

"I want to. For my own sake as well," Heero stated.

Duo laid his face sloppily on the leather of the steering wheel, managing to drag his violet-blue eyes, haunted by unrefundable hours of lost sleep, up to look at the Japanese man again. "There you go—Not trusting me again." He giggled dizzily and it drove a stake of fear through Heero's little death-fearing heart.

"You really are trying to kill me aren't you? Didn't you learn to watch the road before? Look!"

"Fine," Duo grumbled in the manner of a disgruntled teenager, propping his head on his folded arms. "I hate backseat drivers anyway, so you can have it."

True to his word, the weary con man pulled the delivery truck over into a parking lot with tall tuffs of grass growing around the deep, watery potholes and tiredly threw it into park. With a tiny huff of general irritation, the wanted criminal rubbed sleepily at his eye while he hopped out of the cabin to make room to allow Heero to shift over into the driver's seat. The notebook was stashed away and the Japanese man readjusted himself to driving as Duo ambled around front. Golden sun spilled over the dark silhouette of buildings and caught on the side of the weary bohemian face as he vaguely shook his head and opened the door again. He managed to climb in, only to collapse promptly and lie face down in the fabric of the seat.

"Why don't you go to sleep?"

"Mmmnhh," Duo groaned into the seat.

"It'll be fine," Heero insisted. "Besides, you're more of a distraction when you complain and you should just stop whining and get some sleep. You have the opportunity."

A tired, half-sour look flashed his way. "Whining? Who said I was whining?"

"I did. Now go on."

His response was an unhappy groan of defiance and the bohemian's arms laid across his head, shielding off whatever the traveler would preach at him.

"Come on," Heero scowled. "It's just a catnap."

That got him a very quick pointed look in return. "It's really not your place to tell me what to do, you know."

"Think of it as more of a suggestion," Heero said firmly.

Duo tossed his right palm in the air, while still raggedly spread on his stomach. "Well, obviously I just can't win today, so why go through the trouble? I guess I might as well conk out for twenty."

"Might as well," he repeated, making sure the idea was firmly imprinted in Duo's rather ambiguous moods.

Duo grunted in return, obviously scraping off an imitation of his travelmate in his dull, disagreeable grumble and awkwardly hooked his foot over the seat before a low, quiet voice stopped him. His head tilted to meet two dark Prussian eyes whispering at him through the disheveled dark hair.

"Duo."

"Yeah?" He scratched at the itchy traces of stubble he'd really meant to take care off before.

Heero paused, seemingly unable to pull the words from his throat, then tactfully licked his lips and summoned whatever raw, impulsive nerves he could find in the virtually impeccably straight line that was his brain. In an inconspicuous low voice, he asked, "You're sure you're alright? They didn't—"

The inquiry made the con man stop for a moment. "Yeah," he said, resisting the smile tugging at his sly face, "I'm fine. Those dumb thugs couldn't lay a finger on me."

"Hn. Good." The Japanese man shifted in his seat and turned a steeled expression toward the windshield. "But I'm not going to do your job for you. I'm not driving the rest of the way."

"Gotcha, buddy," Duo said, giving a salute. But, unseen, the impish smile still didn't dull across his face.

The bohemian turned his head and clamored less-than-gracefully over the seat and fell on the sleeping cot with an almost disconcertingly loud thump and remained motionless. He didn't bother with the burden of actually scrounging around for the ratty blanket and just shoved the pillow somewhere vaguely under his head before sleep clawed at his travelsick brain. He yawned loudly, displaying each of his teeth in the act, and itched at his hair, which still was covered in his dark baseball cap. Duo sat up suddenly and slumped his chin against the seat, picking a location dangerously close to Heero's neck, whom was startled to see the bright-eyed bohemian hovering suddenly inches from his face.

"What?" he asked.

"Directions," Duo grunted. "You need them, _genius_."


	8. Part 8 THE WAY

Part 8 THE WAY

Despite the minor snarl in Duo's tone, attributed mostly to sleep deprivation and his very high metabolism that made his stomach start growling again, the directions that he gave through a tired slur were quite helpful. It wasn't simplest highway to ever be laid down and the odd, sweeping angles and crisscrossing network of paint-chipped crosswalks and dauntless city pedestrians meandering across at will were not the easiest to handle. At least, for controlling bursts of road rage. Heero himself was a very patient man and more than a qualified driver, he said, recalling how he'd gotten perfect marks in passing his driver's test.

The bohemian had been less than pleased to hear the high school memory, when Heero defended his driving ability after a slight on Duo's case, in his current sleep-deprived condition and rolled his eyes before he disappeared into the back. Soft shifting of fabric continued momentarily before the noisy con man was completely silent.

It was unnerving, somehow, thinking of how quickly he slipped out of the conscious world and how heavily he slept. Not the purring of the engine, not the jolting rhythm of the road nor the vivid sunlight would seemingly shake Duo Maxwell now. Light, chestnut brown hair spilling out beneath his immovable black baseball cap and curled up without sight of a blanket, he was a very odd sleeper. Oh, yes, and the fact that when Heero couldn't control his curiosity anymore and called him, he was as still as stone. He yelled loudly once, almost drowning out the rabid punk vocals floating across the cabin from the radio, and still, Duo either was dead to the world or somehow got a kick out of faking sleep.

He didn't seem to be waking up anytime soon, and it would be a welcomed break for Heero Yuy. Before revving the engine and reemerging into the fray of streamlined traffic lines, he leaned down and turned down the volume of the music. The raging chord progressions and erratic, eccentric and all too often very heated vocals didn't bother him, but he wasn't quite used to it, being raised in a Peacecraft household filled with operas and classical. And it was Duo's property, anyway. Even if he knew the truck was probably stolen.

Heero mulled over the last thought with dimmed eyes then sharply shook his head. The exact reason he'd pursued such a wild topic was because of the predominate prejudice against deviants such as Duo. Criminal or not, the con man was still a human being deserving a fair judgement based on character and with his faults and weaknesses taken into account, just as any just man would demand. The news report had somehow infuriated him. The Japanese man mentally snarled at himself. Automatically assuming that he had stolen the truck was just the kind of infectious thinking he was contesting in his term paper.

With an edge of anger directed at his ignorant thought, he turned the engine and Heero picked up the reins where Duo had dropped off.

The route was simple. It had to be. Neither Duo or Heero had ever navigated the particular city which they were passing through. Duo had told his passenger very little about the trip and his arcane reasons for it, but he did tell him their destination was the flourishing Cinq City and there was only one major highway leading there from their current location. If he remained on the 65, then he could steer no wrong. There were multiple other, smaller roads exiting the city that eventually winded off into the distance, but Duo strongly vied against them. Despite less police activity and fewer patrol cars lying in wait, they were indirect, interlacing courses that rarely traveled straight for Cinq. They would have to carefully find their way through the rural roads and most likely reverse direction to undo a navigation error, and that, as Duo elegantly put it, "would be a plain pain in the ass." The bohemian was willing to forgo the safety for the faster, more dangerous course. Heero had nodded compliantly.

He'd also stressed that they made good time, which had seemed strange. A con man, enforcing a rule, shaking a finger at him to make sure he was paying dead attention.

Duo had explained, before collapsing onto the bed, out cold, that there was a very important deadline to make. He had grinned weakly and commented, "No matter what. Squash the pedestrians and stray dogs in the name of the mission, if need be." Duo had laughed at the cruel, half-morose humor in his words and patted Heero chummy-like on the shoulder before falling asleep in the cramped sleeper cabin.

Heero drove uneventfully for a few hours, greeted with golden light spilling across every curve of the road, the faces of men and women bustling through their lives as he drove past. He crept slowly closer to the edge of the metropolis and eventually the green of looming trees cut the industrial gleam more and more. Driving was easy enough for him; the punk songs still raged dimly in the background and Duo seemingly was lost to dreams. Once he had just left the city for another stretch of uncompromised highway, Heero spotted a metallic gleam ahead on the highway. Perched on a slow incline beside the highway, an insignificant-looking weigh station beckoned. The single sign announcing it was old and ragged, paint chipped and coated with the scratchy black vandalism of spray paint. Unthinkingly, Heero began to turn the wheel in the direction of the weigh station, forgetting of his circumstance.

But there were definitely a few reminders.

There was breath against his neck and furtive hands slid entrancingly down the length of Heero's arms, igniting every nerve and line afire in their wake. Old bohemian sorcery. Faint traces of hair ghosted across Heero's neck and shoulder, cool against the sudden nervous, startled heat of his skin and trickling down the collar of his shirt like temptation personified. Heero stiffed as Duo's arms wrapped firmly around the outside his own arms and the voice of Eros returned. It hovered dangerously next to his ear, tinted with that subtle, effortless tone of a true bohemian seducer. "I don't think so, traveler."

"Huh?" Heero blurted instinctively.

While all was tension in Heero's muscles, Duo's hands tightened subtly around the thin Japanese wrists with seemingly enough power to crush them, but the discretion not to. "Where do you think you're going?" he purred, his voice rumbling lazily in the pit of his throat.

With a tiny appliance of pressure, paired with the overwhelming sensation of the brunet con man nuzzling "sleepily" into his neck, Heero's hands relented and let Duo take control of the wheel for a moment. After all, what would he do otherwise? Since first seeing the bohemian without the influence of alcohol, he'd realized the power that Duo had hidden in his slim frame and how unlucky he would be to somehow turn it against himself by angering him. And besides, with the constant wash of warm breath curving down his neck, he couldn't pull his attention away from it.

"That's right, drive on by," Duo purred. The underlying tone was firm and lethal at the same time and Heero swallowed half-nervously, keeping his steely blue eyes on the road. The bohemian hands pressed against his own and adjusted the wheel so that the truck whirred by the weigh station moments later. "Good boy," Duo said blankly, patting his shoulder casually and slinking back into the shadow of the cabin.

Heero paused, momentarily stopping to catch his nerves as they rattled beneath his skin, and shifted his eyes up to the glassy reflection of the rearview mirror. The sleep-haunted, grim violet eyes of the bohemian locked onto his face in the reflection, bowed in the shadow. Heero licked his lips nervously once to give him time to form his words clearly, eyes going dark in apology. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

"Yeah," Duo snorted, giving leeway to an unenthusiastic sliver of a smile and lethargically tipping up the rim of his ever-present black baseball hat. "Forgot you were harboring a criminal. That's alright. I'd rather forget about me, too."

"I apologize. I promised I wouldn't turn you in and I—"

"And you didn't." Duo's violet eyes flashed with a potent mix of lethal sincerity and twisted humor. "Listen. Mistakes are fine, just don't screw up twice. After that, nothing'll be certain for you but death and taxes. That's a promise."

A string of half-morose laughter followed and Duo patted the driver happily on the shoulder again. Great. His energy instantly recovered. "So, too busy watching the road to pull over for some chow? I need nourishment or I'll wither away. And you would absolutely hate that."

Heero glanced up into the mirror again, after momentarily scoping out the road and glancing at the flashing green numbers of the clock. "You only slept for three hours. You seemed like you were tired enough to sleep until Thursday. What happened?"

"Aw," Duo purred from the backseat, accenting with a stylishly flippant flick of his wrist. He slung his boots nonchalantly up onto the seat and crossed them at the ankles. "That's nothing. Wait until I'm so damned exhausted that I'm actually grumpy. You won't see a glimpse of these divining eyes open for weeks."

"Nice to know."

A symphony of joints popping fired in close succession as the criminal cattily curved his arms into an arch in the air above his head and kneaded his bony knuckles simultaneously. His shoulder-length, chestnut brown hair tossed for an instant as he cracked the joints in his neck, like the erratic tattoo of drums. A short silence followed as he put his feet down and Duo once again propped his head on the fabric of the seat, tossing his arms fluidly out in front of himself and letting them dangle in the air. He sighed and crudely scratched his entire right cheek.

"What about you? You've been working nonstop. You must be famished, too," the bohemian lilted, shifting his head toward Heero and his perfectly blue little human eyes. "Driving always drains all the energy out of me. To me, it's just stressful, trying to color in the lines like that—following the rules." He grunted and flashed a bit of tongue in a sour raspberry at nobody and nothing in particular.

"Yeah," Heero grunted, mechanically shifting the truck into the faster lane, "if you don't know _how_ to drive."

The notorious con man grinned, taking the slight in a burst of humor. "Running from the law is also stressful, if you're afraid of breaking those rules." The remark was blatantly aimed at Heero and although it was strange, there was something so awfully truthful that it stung a nerve in the Japanese man's brain. His blue eyes flickered to Duo's for an instant, and then frowned sullenly.

"Come on, don't pout at me," Duo quipped. "It's not my fault the world's shoved a pole up your ass, and certainly don't look to me to pop it out for you. Now, look, you're crotchety, and I'm starving. This calls for some Mexican takeout."

"Italian."

"Chinese."

"French."

"Japanese," Duo said finally. His catty smirk burst wide open when the traveler finally conceded defeat by sullenly returning to watching the intermittent yellow lines blur past. It wasn't the gesture itself that plastered a smile across the criminal's face, it was the delectable glowering frown he advertised. It was sweet enough to practically lick of his face, Duo mused playfully. And that made him even more ravenous.

Sunrays glistened off the blades of grass endlessly as they rippled in the wind. The heat cut through the air and settled on the shoulders of one Heero Yuy, sitting noiselessly on the grass. Around him, trees spotted the landscape, gray, curving lines of cement wove through the shade, and the general pleasant sounds of summer lulled through the air. It was invigorating but still so incredibly tranquil, Heero thought as he crossed his legs and leaned into the sun, sitting alone on a sweeping low plain in the city's central park. They'd stopped once they'd reached a new city to order lunch.

Right now, the black hole successfully remained distant and powerless over him, along with the nagging cornflower blue eyes of his appointed girlfriend. Concerns had dropped like bricks and remained scattered in the cabin of the Isuzu, now sleeping peacefully in the shade at the edge of the bustling, industrial road.

Criminal record erased from immediate consequence with a stunning white smile, Duo soon sauntered beside him, bringing the oriental aromas of his meal with him. With feline grace, the bohemian sat down in the grass without uttering noise, offering a grin and some tempura and udon noodles too. Heero nodded and sat up straighter in the presence of the social criminal, solidly possessed with modesty. It was a bit embarrassing to act unprofessional around the bohemian, as ridiculous and nearly hypocritical as it sounded when he thought about it, but there was always a certain nerve twisted in him when he was around that cunning smile that wouldn't relax.

Maybe because it was he was in the custody of a nefarious con man and his life itself was clutched between sticky fingers.

Duo quickly handed the traveler his lunch and begin to chat lightly about sweet nothings, about the clips of conversation he'd heard while working his way through the restaurant. Heero listened quietly while the obviously gregarious, bright-eyed man talked to him, to himself, to nobody in particular. Beneath the sunny warm tones and considerate cadence, Heero swore something lurked. He quickly dissipated the idea when the rounded face of his subject turned to him and commented on something with a grin.

"Don't you think?"

Heero searched for an answer, but only managed to scrape up a half-hearted nod. Duo laughed and shifted his attention to his meal. "You're quite the attentive one, traveler. Maybe I should chain you to the bumper to keep your head out of the clouds, huh?" The bohemian clicked the plastic _hashi _at him in a kittenish gesture, his gaunt fingers strangely beautiful as they prodded at him. "Pay attention!"

He paid the final comment no mind and tastefully began to eat his rice dish, strewn with vegetables, a moderate spread of sauce, and miniature slices of meat and an anchovy set artfully on top. "How far do you think we have left to travel?" he asked, vaguely scowling at something. "And when is this deadline you're so concerned with meeting? If I'm going to accompany you, I need information."

"Completely agree," Duo said. He licked the sauce trail from a noodle from the edge of his lip, pausing to luckily chew the food. "But why worry about that now, Heero? We've got sunshine on our backs and food in our bellies, so why make much ado about nothing? It's time to relax!"

Heero frowned. "I don't need to relax. I'm fine," he retorted sullenly.

His flickering, dark blue eyes settled on his own complimentary _hashi_, or chopsticks, now pinching the rather dead and rather repulsive anchovy. Every vegetarian atom in the Japanese man's stomach paled and cringed at the bitter marine aroma. Seconds later, a pair of red utensils descended with a clack and in a blur, the meat had disappeared into the bohemian's cunning jaws. Heero glowered at him, amazed with Duo's overtly brash attitude as he happily inhaled the seafood.

"Mmmm. That's always been my favorite part of these dishes, ya know."

"You know that that was rude in my culture."

Duo quickly shoveled a burst of rice into his mouth, decadently doused with gratis soy sauce, and luckily the smile diminished as to hide the mashing food. "Don't talk to me about cultural disrespect, my good man," the bohemian muttered as he scraped the final grains of rice into his mouth with his dark red _hashi_. Duo flashed the bottom of the bowl as he lifted it his mouth and tapped the scraps into his ravenous mouth. When the dish sat in his lap, completely emptied out, Heero received a toothy leer.

"Besides, you weren't going to eat that. Believe me, I just did you one fat favor."

With a withering tone, Heero snorted. "How would you know?"

"Simple." _Hashi_ clacked at him, accenting the cunning smile. "You're a vegetarian. First of all, you turned down the waitress's offer for sausage in the most blatantly vegan way, and secondly, I can smell it."

"_Smell_ it?" Heero asked skeptically.

"Yeah." The bohemian laughed to himself, chewing the piquant, saucy food. "At the carnival grounds. Neither your breath or your mouth tasted like any kind of meat at all. I can tell these things. In fact, it tasted just like peaches and whiskey. Sort of like kissing a walking breath mint."

At the mention of their meeting in the gypsy tent, not even a shade of embarrassment rose to Duo's face, only a wicked broad grin. That did not apply to Heero, however, who stumbled over the memory and turned a slowly heating face down to the innocent and plain food. His thin lips pinched nervously.

It didn't help that Duo snickered moments later, smugly beaming at the blue-eyed traveler's profile. Though the flirtation was absolutely delicious, Duo knew it couldn't continue for long and quickly occupied his thoughts with his equally ravenous thirst. The paper take-out bag ruffled loudly as the bohemian fished out his bottle of Coca-Cola, compliments of a near-by vending machine. It hissed, the cap was removed, and Duo took a lengthy swig, sighing happily and smacking his mouth lusciously. Heero ignored it and politely chewed his rice.

Duo, as quickly as he could seduce with his smile of temptation, finished his meal and set the take-out box on the grass. Heero peered at him cautiously as the black-clad criminal lifted his backside of the ground and produced a rather crumpled paper map from his back pocket. Momentarily, his tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked away a spot of sweet sauce. The traveler scowled at him, if only accustomed to frowning at such things.

The bohemian flattened the half-tattered map across his crossed legs and hummed quietly to some random tune while his eyes scanned across the labyrinth of intersecting red and blue lines. For a moment or two, they remained in silence. The expanse of sky overhead was dotted only by the bravest of clouds and general silence only permeated by the obligatory rattle and hum of traffic and the callings of songbirds and sparrows flitting from tree to tree. Duo noiselessly reviewed the map, soaking in the image of where a dark, marker-inked line wove erratically amongst the urban sprawl depicted. It was strange first of all for the bohemian to ever be happy with silence and not reach for music or indistinct chatter to pacify his time, and doubly strange to see him doing anything that even remotely resembled studying. Heero was still leaning over his steaming meal, Prussian eyes flickering and carefully examining the curious bohemian. And even more strangely, it was Heero who soon couldn't stand the lingering quiet as it began to shiver and itch beneath his skin.

"How far is Cinq from here?" the Japanese man asked, glancing up to Duo's face.

The shocks didn't cease. Instead of automatically flashing a slaying grin in his direction and injecting some sort of relish into his voice, Duo calmly skittered his eyes around the map and answered evenly, reservedly. Obviously there was something separating the two veneers, but there was no telling when he would exchange them for the other or why. "A little ways yet. Even making excellent time it'll still take at least two days." He shifted the map, unfolding another section, equally wrinkled and exhausted with ink lines, so that the urban area of Cinq came into view. "Not to worry, though. If we elude the authorities, which we will, everything will work out."

"That's good."

Duo quickly shoveled a strawberry pocky stick into his mouth and chewed as he intently studied the map, always scanning for something. "Fantastic," he added dryly.

"You're not concerned about the two hunters from his morning, either?"

"We'll be long gone again before they even dream of catching a whiff of us, Heero," Duo said, knocking back another drink of sugary carbonation. "That's how good fugitives survive. We run before we can be seen, we throw off our tracks before we are tracked, and we kill before we are killed. We throw away everything. We're homeless creatures."

The stinging, dark expression that visited the bohemian's face before slipping away did not escape him, and Heero leaned back, his eyes still loathing leaving Duo's profile. "Are you well enough to drive now?"

"Yeah," Duo said with a shrug. "Don't fuss. I'll be awake for a decade now."

"Wonderful," Heero said silently, so that barely audible bursts of air left his lips, a true exercise of muttering beneath one's breath.

"Isn't it, though?" The bohemian spoke casually, somehow able to detect the softest noise. The small, pointed look that landed on Duo's cherub-shaped face was dulled by the brash chewing sounds he made, sacrificing another strawberry candy stick to his hunger. He finally looked up to Heero's Asian face and made only a half-hearted smile as welcoming.

"So, how's the paper progressing?" Duo asked glibly, ceasing in his studies to crumple up {his way of folding} the road map in his lap. Heero was half-disappointed to see the circus act slip neatly into place, white teeth beaming just as brightly as ever. "Need anything else from me? Beside what I mentioned before, nothing's off limits. Fetishes, phobias, childhood infatuations—just ask and it's yours to know."

"Yeah," Heero said. There was an opportunity here for him, and he would hate to let it pass unfruitful. "Would you mind if I asked you a rhetorical question?"

"Hold on. Is it one of those, 'My friend has a problem with his herpes and I'm really just asking for him,' kind of rhetorical question?" Duo quipped happily.

"No."

"Oh, good. Fire away then, traveler."

Heero would continue, as requested, but that didn't stop him from giving him a mild suspicious look. It only fed the hungry leer on the bohemian's face. "Go on," Duo grinned.

Heero paused again anyway. He felt stupid for asking, but it would have gnawed at him if he hadn't. "If you could make anyone understand you and what you've done in the past, who? The one person you could confess your regrets to."

"How 'bout that big guy in the sky that everybody seems so intent on?"

Heero only narrowed his eyes slightly at the joking response. "Besides God."

The bohemian smirked in response. "Ya got me, I guess."

Duo leaned back, the expression on his face quirked slightly and his violet eyes bright in the heavy dousing of sunlight spread across his shoulders. A finger rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, stroking along his notable cheekbones, and the pure cunning wit of his smirk dimmed.

"Good one," he congratulated the traveler. "Well, besides you too, since you are my official biographer or the only one in the world who would give a shit to do so, I really wish I knew what I was doing." A string of laughter quickly spilled from his lips as he lowered his gaze to the grass undulating in the wind. And it sunk knives into Heero's chest to witness it. It was unexplainable, but somehow he hated it when he laughed like that. Like he hated every second of it.

"Well, despite how it may seem, I don't enjoy this life of crime. I never wanted it. Never. But circumstances arise that change you forever, I think, and you can either fight the tide and be dashed on the rocks, or go with them and just try to fill the gap that it eats into you." The bohemian scoffed again and casually tucked the stray bangs behind his ears, still grinning emptily out into space. "I mean, I don't know if you know what I mean, but you have to do something to fill that gap, no matter how deep, or otherwise it eats you alive. And I chose this. I hate it, but it fills me momentarily and it doesn't hurt anymore for a while."

Slowly, Duo lifted his head to face Heero. And it was wiped clean of emotions, just a hollow face sketched on the blackboard with the most intricate chalks.

"Well," he sighed with false happiness, getting to his feet with feline liquid grace and patting the dirt off his hips. "I'll see you in the truck. Like I said, we've gotta make good time to Cinq if we wanna see the fireworks."

Heero paused, blinking in the rift left in the bohemian's wake, before rapidly seeking out a garbage can and disposing off his mostly finished entrée to flash after the slim, disappearing shadow named Duo Maxwell. But beneath his steely face countless wires pulsated endlessly with electricity, sparking and uncertain, when the words were replayed in his memory, each lilt and inflection of the Eros voice pristine and perfect.

'Just try to fill the gap.'


	9. Part 9 CHRONIC SMOKER

Part 9 CHRONIC SMOKER

Duo Maxwell had driven for all of five scant minutes before a sudden craving overtook him, and not one for the stony-eyed traveler who scribbled incessantly at his passenger side. He tenderly licked his lips and knew it was vain to deny it. So, as soon as the fire engine red car ahead of him veered off into a parking lot, the bohemian's eyes locked onto the glass windows of the humble-looking gas station, hunger glowing in the pits of his violet eyes. With certain feline cunning, he smirked and circled the block to stall the delivery truck a little ways from the gas station. Heero's dark blue eyes were much to occupied with his rapidly composing notebook to register what was happening at first, but he snapped to attention when Duo's slim dark figure was abruptly absent at his side and the air echoed with the hollow metal clash of the door slamming shut.

Heero instantly lifted his head and put writing to the back of his mind, as he looked suspiciously at the empty driver seat and moved over quickly to the window. "Duo?" He called after and leaned out the open window. His expression was marred with skepticism. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, just thought I'd grab something for the road," Duo called back absently, lacing his fingers behind his back and stretching his arms out backwards as he walked. He made it seem effortless. "If you want somethin', ya just hafta ask, ya know."

"There's no way you can be hungry. We ate all of ten seconds ago."

Spinning around, the con man continued walking, backwards this time, as he gave only a smirk and a smug salute as a response. As he let his arm fall to the side, he started laughing conspiratorially to himself and spun back around on his heels. Now he was stepping lightly up onto the sidewalk and both his hands were balled up in his pockets. And, if Heero could hear as well as he thought he could, he was also whistling "_Hi-Ho_," to himself. He put a hand on the windowsill and tried to hold back the sharpness of his tone as he called after him again.

"Duo," he warned sharply from the window of the Isuzu, "don't—"

"Don't what?" the bohemian called back innocently, without looking, now individually cracking all of his knuckles behind his back in a blatantly defiant way.

"You know what? If you get caught, I'm not going to bail you out," Heero warned again, his voice growing louder slightly in frustration, knowing no matter what he would threaten him with there was no way he could rein in the free-spirited bohemian. It was obvious in that dependable deviant smirk. His hand tightened around the rim of the window as he called out again. "Duo—"

Pawing at the air with a hand casually and the other sitting pretty on his hip, he called back in a mocking display of repetition, "If you want something, ya just hafta ask, ya know!" He snickered to himself. It made the straight-laced man sitting in the driver's seat, leaning out the window, tighten his grip around the windowsill while his blood pressure had begun the daily climb it'd been suffering lately.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." His voice was raising a few dangerous decimals.

The bohemian's fingers were suddenly stuck innocently in each of his ears. "Blah, blah, blah."

"Duo!" Heero snapped.

He was whistling again, stepping like a jaunty dressage horse.

Again, he tried to get a warning through to him, but it was beginning to feel futile. Like he was talking to a deviant criminal who wasn't going to listen to him anyway. Imagine that. "I'm telling you," he said, "don't do anything stupid. I won't help you if you do."

"I'll only be a minute," Duo crooned ever so glibly in return, his wicked smile practically visible through the back of his head. It seemed to amuse him to radically piss off the traveler.

_Besides, that guy is such a crumbly cookie_, he thought smugly to himself. _He'd come running to help a box of kittens. He's a mush-ball._

"Duo, I mean it. I won't come and bail you out if you get in trouble," came the final growl, before he gave a sigh dripping with exasperation and leaning back in the seat to simply watch the headstrong con man make his way up onto the sidewalk and towards the door. He was helpless to watch him turn around and hold the door open for an elderly lady, even giving her the tiniest of bows and his best shit-eating Boy Scout smile as she went by. He swore that he even saw him give him a mischievous smirk before turning and disappearing inside the door. Heero's face scrunched up slightly as he watched the blurry form of the bohemian behind the frosted glass, then he muttered underneath his breath and moved away from the window to write again.

Inside, Duo was strolling along the aisle as if he were no more than a paying customer looking for a gallon of milk or carton of eggs. He even would pick up a few things, but instead of taking them up to the counter, he'd simply snicker at them and put them back on the shelf. Browsing through the candy section, bending over to pick up the latest scandalous magazine, running his finger through the frost on the freezer doors, he gave gracious, beaming smiles to all the people he passed.

What they didn't know was Duo managing to keep anything from sticking to his fingers—just yet. The black-clad con man faded in and out between the aisles while he waited for the rest of the customers to clear out, and luckily most of them had been headed for the register when he strolled by them, carefully analyzing them. His mindless welcoming grin twisted into a more sinister one and he slipped silently into the condiment aisle.

The cashier was too busy fixing her hair in a handheld mirror to notice that Duo had been roaming inside for five minutes, and he glanced at her once. Then he made a determined beeline towards the men's room, with a swindled ketchup and soy sauce bottle hand.

He ducked into the narrow hallway at the back of the convenience store and pushed the bathroom door open with his shoulder, rolling smoothly inside. Glancing around, he praised his luck. It was a single stall room, with a dismal looking sink hanging beneath a mirror and a toilet tucked, unhidden, in the corner. Someone had torn up the "Employees Must Wash Hands" sign and balled it up in the trash bin. Duo smoothly stuck the toe of his boot in the door, and leaned back to peer through the crack and get a vantage of the cashier girl.

Yup. Still trying to get that right mixture of sweet schoolgirl and streetwalkin' whore to her hair.

He removed his foot and let the door shut quietly, ticking once as he turned the lock close. After that, once he was pretty sure it was sufficiently soundproof in the room, he lifted an arm and brought it down hard, the sound of glass shattering echoing on the tiled walls.

The cashier girl then leaned her stomach against the counter, grinding down her nails with a pink and blue file, inches from her mouth and puckering her lips as she concentrated. She hardly heard the bohemian footsteps approaching her at a ragged jog until an unfamiliar face greeted her, looking a shade or two paler than he should have. Proclaimed as Darlene by her nametag, she half-started when she saw the man breathing unevenly, standing at the counter with nothing in his hands. He was also wearing all black, but her eyes went straight to his face, charming as it could be despite the uncertainty and almost horror etched into it.

"Can I help you?" she asked, suddenly wishing she'd done her hair a little nicer and standing up straight so her pushup could work it's magic.

Duo put a hand on the counter glass, as if to support himself physically and took a deep gulp to try and steady his breathing. After a second, he managed to get his lungs under control and make the cashier girl look absolutely absorbed in him. Her smoky eyes were filling with concern as he started to stammered, "Listen, Miss, miss—uh"

"Darlene," she answered quickly, bated. "My name's Darlene."

"Darlene" Duo murmured back, stringing a smile through his anxiousness. "Well, what do you know. That's a coincidence. That was my grandmother's name."

"What's wrong, sir?"

The weak smile was skillfully dropped and pleasantry in his voice was shaky. "I think something horrible has happened I didn't know what to do but come to you," Duo managed to moan out before that image of something horrific crept back into his head and made him loose another shade of color in his face. "I think someone hasthey've—God, it's just horrible."

By now, she had used whatever little intuition she had left in her head after all the aerosol hairspray she'd exposed it to during her life to realize that something serious had just happened, and despite slowly feeling a dreading fear, she had stepped quickly out from the counter and come around to stand next to the good-looking stranger. A pale, stammering, but stunning stranger she must've missed walking in. A hand went to his shoulder and she tried to comfort him.

"It's okay, sir," she said as sweetly as she could, a little disappointed as she noticed that the stranger was only as tall as her. She preferred taller men, she thought dismally, but there wasn't much she could do about that. "Just show me what happened. Is it someone you know?"

"No, I just opened the bathroom door and when I saw it, I" Duo croaked shakily, having visible difficulty speaking about it. His eyes were even taking on a fine, fearful sheen. "It was unlocked and I didn't think anyone would be in there, I didn't think that—"

"Don't force yourself to get all upset, now, and let's just go take another look. Alright? Then we can go call the police," the cashier girl Darlene soothed, guiding the upset stranger with the wonderfully subtle cologne towards the bathroom hall.

"Thank you, I just—I just couldn't do it by myself," Duo gushed shakily.

As the bohemian walked reluctantly along side the unsuspecting girl, coming closer to the cracked bathroom door in the half-shadowed hall, his face betrayed nothing but honest disturbance. Or, so any unsuspecting girl would have thought so, mostly because she was just that unsuspecting. He even would balk back a step or two as they drew closer like he couldn't stand to return to the sight he'd stumbled across. She would put a hand on his shoulder regularly to try and guide him along, and told him, "Just please come with me, alright, I'm scared too," she confessed as they made it through the aisle and stood at arm's length from the door knob.

It was nothing but dark in the bathroom itself, and the inch of space between the door and the frame didn't reveal any of the horror that the stranger in the convenience store had claimed to witness. But none of that seemed to set off any alarms in the young girl's mind, and she cautiously looked back at him again. "In there?" Darlene asked nervously.

Duo was hovering close behind her, but still occasionally balked backwards. He was cradling his arms against his chest and covered his mouth with one as he nodded tensely, eyes thick with concern. She took a second to muster whatever courage she could, motivating herself with the possibility of a date to help comfort' the stranger further, and took a few steps toward the door. Darlene paused once again, but she put her hand around the doorknob and pushed it tentatively open.

Through the four-inch crack she could clearly see a pool of liquid on the floor, and as her eyes adjusted, she could tell that it was a deep red substance that leaked steadily toward the door because of the slight slope of the ground. As she gasped, she anxiously pushed the door further open upon a seeping pool of blood on the floor, praying to God for the first time since Sunday school that there wasn't a corpse lying beside it. She didn't hear Duo shifting quietly behind her, but she did hear her own gasp turn into a confused sound as she saw what lay inside. A half-shattered bottle of soy sauce lay beside a half-emptied ketchup bottle, mixing together and forming a dark, watery, blood-like pool.

Darlene started to turn her head, her eyebrows digging together in confusion. "What's going on—?"

There was a series of loud thuds as a hand came down on the back of her head and her unconscious body sprawled out onto the tile, some of her coifed hair spilling out into the pool of mixed condiments. The bohemian snorted smugly to himself and balled his fists casually in his pockets. The door swung slowly close until it was stopped by the young employee's body, and the sound of footsteps calming walking away with the tiniest hop in their stride was the only thing heard aside from the complacent whistling tune.

A few seconds later, the sign in the window had been overturned to proclaim, "Sorry, We're Closed," and a pair of keys pillaged and both doors securely locked. That was just before the bolted plastic case over looking the register was easily foiled and pilfered and was one expensive pack of Marlboro less to show for it.

"Grandmother's name my ass," Duo snickered to himself, pinching a cigarette between his lips. He sat lounging on the counter with a knee bent casually and his back supported by the cash register, sprawled out as if he were rolling in piles of war spoils.

He twirled the stolen fag between his lips, enjoying it for a second before he lit it. Then he laughed. "Pitiful _hienn_, they get easier and easier to fool everyday."

The bohemian slung an arm up into the air behind his head and with the other, looked for a place to tap his cigarette. He shrugged and ended up using the penny dish. After a few long, prosperous drags, the con man leaned back and craned his neck to peer a second at the cash register. He pinched the cigarette between his lips with a lazy smirk as he twisted an arm back to reach toward the unprotected motherload. Snickering again to himself and the empty convenience store, he skillfully waved his fingers over the keys and jabbed the cash tray ejector button with the greatest of ease.

"Come on, make it a little bit of a challenge for me, people," Duo drawled, turning over to paw idly through the various denominations just waiting to be pilfered with a massive grin. A smile that, reasonably, had disappeared with the first shot that ripped through the cash register a scant inch from his chin and extinguished his cigarette, not to mention turning said cash register into a smoking, sparking wreck. Duo managed to bark out a surprised, "Christ!" before he rolled inward off the counter, still able to feel the wind from the bullet as it had whizzed by him.

The bohemian stood up, now behind the circular counter looking out upon the expanse of the convenience store, and struggled to find the source for a second. It was just enough time for another shot to blast through a magazine rack and scatter bits of Cosmopolitan to the floor. Duo instinctually ducked, with a string of vulgar curses already spilling out, bearing his teeth unhappily. While crouched down behind the counter with a glass case of cigarette lighters as cover, he peered out to see one bedraggled employee standing at the mouth of the bathroom hallway.

Darlene harshly blew a wisp of soy sauce saturated hair from her face as she reloaded. There was a maniac gleam in her eye that told him he'd picked the wrong disgruntled worker to push around. The false blood had soaked into her once finely fluffed coif and painted part of her face in a bizarre war-paint. "You're going to regret messing with me! I swear! I've played _Halo_!" Darlene yelled at him, jamming a pair of fresh bullets into the double barrel rifle. She whipped it shut and cocked it. "You can rot in hell, filthy thief!"

Duo was an incredulous face to himself as he ducked back down, back pressed tight to the counter. He hissed in disbelief, "What the hell kind of security is _this_ for a convenience store?!"

The highly temperamental employee started stalking toward the front of the store, fearless now that she wielded a farmer's machine gun. She let the barrel lower slightly as she approached the counter were she had worked in peace, squinting as she tried to pick out a sign of the dastardly, gorgeous man she'd seen and get a satisfying chance to unload a couple into him. Suddenly, a flash of black had whirled over the countertop, sending coins flashing and scattering to the tiles below. She fired, too late, and it bit into tile. Jerking with recoil, she tried to prepare to fire again, but any traces of the black blur had long disappeared into the aisles.

Darlene frowned over her shoulder and began to trot back up to the cash machine, still warily brandishing the rifle as she backed up and surveyed the damage. It was more of an instinct to check the money than anything—God have mercy on that man's soul if it turned up unbalanced. The cashier girl with the stained hair and the rifle made a disgruntled face and walked back up to the counter. She leveled her weapon and waited to catch a glimpse of black.

But nothing appeared. The entire bullet-pocked building, without any bystanders or any other source of sound, filled with an eerie, impossible quiet.

"Come on out," she said mockingly, squinting carefully at the rows and rows of innocent food and windshield scrapers. "Come here so I can give you your change!"

Duo let out a tense, hissing breath as he accidentally leaned back against a bag of potato chips, then let out a sharp little curse as Darlene whipped her head toward it like a vindictive cobra and began stalking in his direction. The criminal quickly slunk off in the other direction, making a furtive ring around the store, unbeknownst to the cashier girl. Normally, he didn't have any trouble with people threatening him with guns—they usually had the restraint or the fear to avoid shooting, but that wasn't so for trigger-happy maniacs who really, really hated people ruining their hair.

"Jesus, get over it," Duo muttered to himself as he slunk past aisle after aisle out of the line of sight, rolling his eyes. The con man tensed up as he realized he'd stepped into the open with his enemy just about to turn her head toward his particular aisle, and hid behind the metal partition stuffed with foodstuffs. His eyes drew together like opposing magnets and he frowned cross-eyed at the extinguished cigarette and threw it to the floor before stealing off in another direction.

Moments later, Darlene's frown widened and she raised the barrels a little higher as she warily walked toward the aisles. Her eyes were flickering back and forth looking for just a glimpse to land a bullet in, but she might have been moving in slow motion to the con man she was hunting. Duo watched her walk into an aisle from a secret vista, stepping cautiously, but nowhere near cautious enough.

"That's your first mistake, Girly-Girl," he snickered.

Still leveling her rifle at every suspicious looking bag of potato chips and Little Debbie cakes, Darlene, the disgruntled cashier girl, rounded on aisle and stalked up another one. She squinted and little lines appeared in her forehead and around her angry scowl.

Duo, who had been crouched at the ready just inside the very next aisle, lunged out from his hiding place and had planned to go past her without even her noticing. He rolled past the aisle and landed fluidly on his feet, but what he hadn't planned on was her finding the cigarette and taking a second longer to turn away. He knew she'd seen him, as soon as he'd committed to it.

She slurred something indefinite, her face flushing red with rage, and took a vicious shot at the passing blur. The barrel bucked and roared and Duo held back a yelp of surprise as the shot nearly grazed his chin, ruining his concentration and sending him to the floor. The bohemian cursed as he recovered onto his haunches and burst out into the next aisle as fast as he could. He stood up just as Darlene had loaded another pair of bullets, and for a second they stared each other in the face. Duo tried his best to smile for her, before shoving at the metal partitions with all his might and the barrel of her gun bucked at him again.

Duo felt some of life shear off, the bullet had gotten that close to landing squarely between his temples before he'd reacted and ducked. It ripped into a box of animal crackers and smoking camels and monkeys spilled out onto the tiles. Meanwhile, the force the criminal had exerted caused the metal shelf to splinter, break, and topple forward toward the cashier girl. As Darlene's mouth gaped open, his nerves kicked in and he was sprinting for cover.

Unfortunately for Duo, the good, heavy scrap of metal he'd used to try and stop this highly disgruntled teenager fell just short of toppling on her and instead the loaves of bread that'd been stacked on top scattered around her and she stepped through them, leveling her rifle again at Duo's retreating back. She wanted horribly to squeeze the trigger and see just how far the con man's liver would fly, but he'd slipped behind yet another aisle partition and she followed, careful to stay in the open walkway this time.

Darlene ran after him as fast as she could toting a firearm along with her instead of her purse, and raised it to fire as soon as she got insight of the aisle. It was hopeless. Eventually luck would smile upon her and she'd get a clear shot of him, or he'd simply tire out, and she'd be able to show him the what for. And when she glared down the scope into nothing but empty tile, she jerked in frustration. "No fucking way! Where'd that bugger go?"

A split second later a soft black object fell to the floor beside her feet. Darlene peered suspiciously at the baseball cap crumpled on the floor, and turned that disgruntled stare up towards the ceiling. A black-clad man clung effortlessly to the ceiling above her by the thin support beams, his shoulder-length hair hanging down like the wings of some strange vampire bat and his smile toothy leering at her.

Darlene growled loudly as she hoisted the double barrels into the air and fired as fast as her finger would obey. The shot ripped through an empty metal panel and blew a jagged hole through it. That empty metal panel promptly plunged from the sky and fell atop the cashier girl, sending her groaning and half-conscious to the floor. The rifle clattered and the loosened bolts scattered around her on the tile. A thick layer of dust from the air passage over head wafted through the air like a miniature and silent mushroom crowd.

Ten feet away the wanted criminal crouched close to the ground on his haunches where he'd landed, and panted quietly as he looked at the girl loosing consciousness and drooling on the tiles. Eventually, his breathing leveled out and he stared blankly for a second. Then the mischievous glint in his eye returned, reveling in the feeling of survival, even on such a ridiculous scale. "Heh," Duo smirked breathlessly.

"...It's been way too long. I know he's up to something in there, he has to be—Duo!"

"Oh, hey ya, traveler," the bohemian greeted casually as they met at the door. The long string of grumbling that was audible even through the door and the impatient frown on his face made it pretty obvious that Heero had just become too overwhelmed with his suspicions and gone against his word and chased after the con man. A con man who, after unlocking the door, had just walked out the door and shut it behind him as the other man had just reached to open it.

He flashed his best disarming, easygoing smile at him, which had been perfected at the cost of the many people that had fallen victim to his trickster nature. "Didn't think you'd be coming after me," Duo reminded him as he tried to subtly keep his attention from wandering. "I could have sworn you were adamantly against it, even."

Being of relatively even height, Heero's stare went flat across to the ever-changing expressions on the criminal's face, and the cynicism in it was almost palpable. He squinted over Duo's shoulder in suspicion. "What did you do in there?" he asked, leaning to the side.

Suddenly, the bohemian shifted over to block his view, disguising it with a little step. "Just a little pitstop," he drawled, waving a pack of cigarettes in his face as proof to back up his alibi. "I promise. What, you still don't believe me? I'm hurt."

"That was an awfully long time just to buy a pack of cigarettes."

"Well, they didn't take my ID at first. I guess I'm just too youthful and beautiful for my own damn good," Duo said cryptically, stuffing the Marlboro pack into his pocket and snatching Heero up by the wrist as he started walking towards the white truck waiting for them across the street. "Come on now, can't be dropping behind schedule. Gentlemen should be prompt and timely, as always."

"You didn't cause any trouble," Heero remarked flatly, releasing his wrist from the bohemian's grip and warily following behind him, though he was unable not to take one last scrutinizing look at convenience store.

"Oh, it was no trouble at all," Duo grinned, already sliding into the driver's seat and shutting the door.

When the blue-eyed traveler had resigned himself to the passenger seat again, notebook cradled under his arm while he stared out the window, Duo casually stuck another war spoil between his lips and lit it. As he turned the engine and slung an arm out the open window, he murmured to himself, "No trouble at all," and grinned.


	10. Part 10 THE NIGHTSWIMMER

Part 10 THE NIGHTSWIMMER

Heero's lanky fingers scratched across the paper and his right arm served as a curious bohemian reflector as he spilled scribbled line after line in rapid succession, while the sun crawled toward its daily death on the horizon, causing darkness to creep in. Duo was happy enough to leave the traveler well enough alone during a rare bout of inspiration, and instead tagged along to the songs pouring at ear-bleeding volume out of the radio. Few cars within a ten-meter radius could not recite a few lines of the latest throbbing sound. Every so often, the flurry of Heero's writing hand would pounce upon an error and furiously scribble it out as if time were slipping away faster and faster with each newfound mistake. Curious bohemian eyes of violet flickered his way, then smiled slyly in their own personal glow. The notorious criminal watched the profile of his traveler, bent over in pure concentration as he tried to pin each precious word down before it floated away with his own hand. Duo's smile grew for a moment, before dark thoughts began to clash in his brain, and it grew distant and cold.

It was simple enough to dodge the authorities in these sleepy districts. Due to Duo's uncanny sense of navigation and keen key for police cars hiding at the sides of roads with their speedometers, the news of Duo Maxwell's most recent insidious scams still had yet to pollute the cities they were passing.

All the while, they crept closer to their final destination of Cinq. When an hour or so had past, and the rock station had mercifully relented to commercial, Heero finally sighed and collapsed against the seat. He kneaded the painful cramps in his writing hand, staring vapidly out into the rapidly darkening, cobalt skies. Stings of clouds scattered the horizon, glowing pink as the sun slowly drowned into the earth and tinted the sky a deep maroon-tinted purple. The traveler rested his chin in his elbow as he gazed off, deeply entranced in thought, before a familiar velvety voice snapped him away from his reverie.

"Hey, Heero," he asked warmly, jabbing one of his thieving fingers at the radio. "Ever hear this one?"

The Japanese man, slightly irritated that he would be disturbed while obviously thinking about something important, simply graced him with a soured look and obediently listened. Though the volume was still sufficiently set at ear-bleeding, the soft, melodic tones that seemed to flitter through the dimness in the cabin were low until a second acoustic guitar strummed in, casting a haunting lull over top. Moments later a low, whispery voice cue in, gently releasing poetic lines of regret and memoirs, and Heero turned to Duo, who was consumed by a charmed bohemian smile.

"No," he said plainly. "I don't—"

Duo beamed in response, quickly hushing him with a finger against his own lip. "Just listen."

_And even though the moment passed me by / I still can't turn away / Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose / Get tossed along the way / And letters that you never meant to send / Get lost or thrown away'_

Heero admitted he liked the ambiguous, haunting song. It strayed from the harsh distortion sounds seemingly so delicious to Duo's ear and was starkly honest and emotional and littered with beautiful metaphors. His eyes shifted from the glowing green display to the side of the criminal's face, now highlighted in dim blue-gray light, with exotic violet eyes closed and losing reality in the lyrics and chords. Something twisted in his stomach as the brunet man promptly chorused in with the stirring refrain.

_And now we're grown up orphans / That never knew their names / We don't belong to no one / That's a shame'_

Duo matched note for note with the half-raspy vocalist, flashing his teeth, belting along.

_But if you could hide beside me / Maybe for a while / And I won't tell no one your name / I won't tell em your name'_

Struck with momentary loss of reality, Heero had to sift through hazy thoughts to finally discover he was staring at the bohemian, his expression darkened and mildly confused. The criminal, turning to flash him a shameless smirk, noticed and titled his head while leaning jauntily on the steering wheel. "Sorry, it's nothing. I just really love this song," Duo said, while the swinging chords sang in the milieu, bursting through a stirring interlude. Suddenly, a curious eyebrow arched. "You know, throughout this trip, you've done nothing but ask questions of me. I think it's time that I shifted the limelight."

"There's no need to," the Japanese man argued flatly, propping his black-scratched notebook on his knee and looking off into the glittering darkness of metropolis lights.

"Now, come on!" A stubborn smile burned at the back of his head. "You know practically my life story—well, come to think of it, you really don't—but from you've told me about yourself, I couldn't even tell if you had a mother."

"You know I'm a vegetarian," Heero pointed out.

"Powers of observation. They're different than friends confiding in friends."

The traveler leveled an even, nearly inhospitable stare at Duo, who effortlessly drove with the guidance of his knee propped against the wheel, while still carefully gazing at Heero. "Don't give me that look," Duo said uneasily. "It's creepy."

"We're friends?" Heero drawled flatly.

"Well, if you were crushed under a burning building, I would save you."

"That makes you a firefighter, not a friend," the Japanese man dismissed, his blue eyes dark. "Besides, it's critical that I stay objective to give a balanced portrayal of criminal behavior. Friendship clouds that; it candy-coats the truth."

"Or it unlocks previously locked doors. Did you ever consider that?"

Heero frowned in confusion at the dashboard, now scattered with dancing flecks of red dusk coloring and gleaming white industrial street lamps. He pinched his thin lips in distrust, before pinning sharp eyes back on the bohemian whom had shifted his profile to face the speeding blur of blacktop road and snorting to himself. "What do you mean by that?" he asked impatiently. Exhaustion was aching through his bones and as in stressful early mornings, tiresome evenings also drained him of most gracious charm.

Duo hooked his head around and professionally scanned the road, intermittently glowing brightly beneath the streetlights, imposing a great deal of cold shoulder onto the traveler. "Nothing," he muttered finally. "I should quit bothering you, anyway, since you've got a lot of work to do. A lot," Duo added sullenly at the end, hissing below his breath. The Japanese man pointedly considered him for a moment, before settling back to the rattle and hum of engine roaring steadily behind him and a raspy voice crooned, dropping out of the stirring interlude into a stark emotional place.

_I think about you all the time / But I don't need to sing / It's lonely where you are / Come back down / And I won't tell em your name'_

* * *

Duo, chewing gum with a brash, smacking pattern in the shadows, expressed nothing on his neutral face as the engine cut and the cold keys were balled up in hand. Sufficiently dead for the moment, the Isuzu now sat retired at the side of the road, pulled past the white line onto the shoulder so that vegetation slinking down from the high-cut hills surrounding them leaped at Heero's window. The dark green tendrils clawed at the glass like tens of tiny demonic fingers. _Sickeningly sweet imagery_, the con man commented sarcastically in thought to no one.

He chewed loudly for a few more moments, just sitting in waiting, while his eyes remained glued to the titled profile of the traveler.

In a few moments, the dark-haired Japanese man felt that the truck had stopped moving and opened his eyes, blinking evenly once or twice to create an analysis of where he was. It spread a sly smile across the bohemian's face, his cunning violet eyes adapting a near glow in the darkness, and he snorted. Heero adjusted his eyes to the sound, still drained from the road and very quiet. He noticed that darkness of night had descended, reprieved only slightly by the full moon looming like a glowing boneyard overhead, dusting the land in dim blue tint. High, heavily forested hills crowded the precisely carved highroad. Again, he heard Duo smile at him.

"So?" Duo quipped, the intent hidden but the misechivious nature bold in his expression.

"So what?" Heero grumbled in return. Tiredness sunk through his bones and eaten away at his patience once again, so he stoically rested his chin in his palm and gazed out into the blue-tinted darkness. A split second later his jaws stretched in a yawn.

"Time for bed." He tawdrily pointed his index finger in the air, mimicking the smoking barrel of a pistol. "Whaddiya say? How bout an old-fashioned ten-step quick draw to decide?"

The Japanese man grumbled less-than-gracefully and rubbed his face with a clammy palm. "Decide what?" he slurred.

"Who gets the cot, of course!"

"Oh."

"My, you really aren't good with mornings, are you? Or just when the sun is down in general, huh? It's only midnight and you already look like you're about to drop dead," the criminal said smugly, relining his feline spine against the chilled glass window in imitation of Jimmy Dean. The devilish smile he flaunted was wasted as the dim blue eyes of Heero Yuy sank into oblivion and abandoned the world for dreams. "Okay, and now you're falling out of your seat!"

On lightning reflexes, the black-clad con man ducked forward and managed to save the sleeping man from rattling his brains on the dashboard. And sadly, Duo wondered if he would just keep sleeping if he had, the damn hyposominac. Flooded in almost mystical blue tint, magnified in Duo's acute night vision, the traveler looked rather peaceful and cute in an innocent, peaceful way, slumping against his wrist. For a moment, the notorious con man paused, unsure of what to do with him. Not just in the immediate sense, but an unsure wave washed over him. He wouldn't be able to kill him, would he? It was true that he was ninety-nine point nine percent sure that Heero was nothing more than a little innocuous, pretty thing, but Duo still had the logic of a true criminal. Trust no human, trust no one. And yet, with his thin little lips parted and hushed breath running over them, the angles of his face doused in a lethargic, beautiful shade of blue, he was—_No! _

A nerve in Duo's brain screamed alert and viciously slammed on the brakes of his mind and he released the Japanese man's shoulder as if it had burst into flames. Lolling to the side, Heero's face landed with a soft, bodily thud and remained wrapped in unconsciousness, while the glimpse of shadow that was the criminal's shoes disappeared into the dark safety of obscurity, running from the things he'd left in the front seat.

* * *

A short chapter, I know, but I promise the next one will be posted sooner. Don't tell this, but I gave you guys an extra chapter, meaning that the last one wasn't going to be included originally, but I thought it should be sort of a present for all the incredibly encouraging people who review and all the people dedicated enough to keep reading my stuff when I lag behind on updates. Snaps for you.


	11. Part 11 PHLEBOTOMIZE

Part 11 PHLEBOTOMIZE

It was like Hell frozen over. Twisted upside down, rattling out his brains, and absolutely freezing. Duo couldn't stand trying to sleep anymore, when his very genetics itched to crawl out into the night, and his teeth chattered violently in his mouth like military drums. Although he was a wanted criminal, he still retained a sense of conscience and the still small voice in his head yapped at him to consider the traveler's sake. He had, and now he was a blanket short on a cold night for his integrity and shining character. And yet, the kind and generous ideas running through his mind wouldn't cease, although he argued back that he'd done his good deeds for the day. He didn't need anymore mental shit to grapple with.

With a morbid smirk, pressed against a ratty pillow, he wondered mildly if that sullen little thing had rubbed off on him, infecting him with his Dudley Do-Good ways.

The bohemian's lips twitched and he noiselessly lifted from the cot. Still donned in the black baseball cap, he listened for traces of life in the front seat and discovered nothing. His smile stretched emptily in the darkness. When the coast was clear, the shadow slunk over the seat, creeping out in a catty slink and escaping without a sound. He passed over the sleeping form of the traveler, covered in the fleece blanket and highlighted in shadow. He didn't even take a second's pause before slipping outside into the chilly night air.

The door swung close with a simple 'thunk.' A rapid series of metallic ticks followed, clashing against fiery white-yellow sparks and eventually setting the end of a pristine white Marlboro fag aflame. Seconds later, bitter-tasting smoke flirted with the bohemian's lungs, spilling out from his lips as he restlessly paced in the half-moonlight. Boots scuffed at the dirt moodily; ashes fell victim to the midnight breeze and whirled away into oblivion.

Eventually, Duo quit pacing on the shoulder beside the white Isuzu and lifted the cigarette from his lips, impatiently folding his arms. He exhaled into the chill night air. Sullen, berating thoughts coursed his mind like a never-ending injection of adrenaline, always chewing at his brain. Mostly, regressing. And regretting. And wondering the fate of the traveler at his own hands.

For a few solitary minutes, things remained as they were. The peaceful, wooded hillsides slept silently around them, looking like they could simply pulverize him and his tiny truck underneath a heel, but had fallen asleep to the setting sun instead. Dark skies loomed overhead and the stars glittered to the centerpiece of a sliced moon, a neat bowl shape hovering white and silent. Silence was suitable at times, at least when the thoughts in his skull were as messed up as they were now.

Duo moodily twisted his lips around the cigarette, knowing very well what the tar-infected smoke was doing to the walls of his lungs. He didn't necessarily enjoy waiting for cancer, but then again, with his plans, there wasn't much to look forward too after this particular job. Might as well rot from the inside out. With a jaunty angle to his leg not supporting the majority of his weight, Duo kicked impatiently at the ground.

To kill, or not to kill. That's the real question, the bohemian thought darkly. I don't trust any one. I should kill him. Ditch 'im, at least. I've only been asking for trouble letting him hang around too long.

The moon crawled deeper into the darkness, still staring like a ghost down across the landscape and itching irritably at the back of the criminal's head. He was heaving a tired sigh, wisps of twisting white smoke spilling rapidly out, when the distant crack ran in his ears like impending thunder. Like a frightened animal, Duo's head shot up and the grey embers and ashes hewed from his cigarette into the breeze. Distrusting white swam around his all but glowing eyes. Nose twitched and he scowled to himself.

Gunsmoke.

It was too close, he thought darkly to himself. It was familiar, too. That was what set a deep frown across his face.

Duo quickly realized his responsibilities and seethed in the direction of the sound he now recognized as a gunshot, hidden deep within the woods. He knew that that gunshot was luring him. And if he didn't follow it and it sniffed him out, he risked something even more important. He'd signed a piece of paper, and along with it, a few unsaid things were agreed upon between the traveler and himself. The bohemian, his heart-shaped face harsh and barren, shadowed in darkness, testily spat out the cigarette and crumpled it underfoot as he calmly disappeared into the forest.

Meanwhile, inside the Isuzu's cramped sleeper cabin, Heero still drifted through a dark, dreamless sleep that hovered close to the surface of consciousness, due to his less than comfortable position. Although the bohemian had given him the blanket, he still was still laying on his stomach, his face half pressed into the seat after having been dropped in to his current haphazard position. It wasn't the most comfortable of sleeping positions. Time drifted lazily by, impossible to gauge, Heero mumbling softly in his sleep and shifting half-uneasily, twisting the fleece blanket into knots around his legs. Some time after the unnoticed exit of the bohemian, there was a muffled noise echoing through the hills that seeped into the sleepy quiet inside the cabin. Heero lifted his sleep-weary head, his dark hair disheveled and eyes heavy and sore. Glancing out the window, looming blue glow dusted across the hills and in the still boughs of the trees.

Heero sat up. That distant, puzzling noise echoed almost silently within the dark of his sleeping mind but still had drawn him back to life. And now he sat up on the seat, furrowing his brow trying to distinguish it. While yawning and rubbing at his eyes in the dimness, that answer came to him. Heero had stopped rubbing his eye by the second gunshot, and had, in a surge of adrenaline powered panic, begun searching for the bohemian and his temptation smile. He found nothing but luggage and he felt as if something was clawing at the inside of his chest.

Wisps of cigarette smoke clawed at his nose and he quickly glanced outside. Maybe he had gone out for a midnight smoke. He briefly got his hopes up, but Duo Maxwell was no where to be seen. He was gone.

"Shit!" Heero cursed, clumsily kicking the blanket away in his hurry. At the third horrific sound echoing over the hills and into the Isuzu, the Japanese man had violently flung the door open and half-fallen, half-leapt to the ground. Spitting gravel and dry yellow dust, he clamored to his feet with adrenaline burning in his blood.

Panting, he glanced down in time to notice the dying embers of a cigarette glowing in the grass, having chewed the fag with fire to the filter and eventually died down on the gravel shoulder. Heero then stared at the looming blue, hunting for signs of life. He could not even think straight he was so frantic, looking for reasons to believe that Duo had not fallen victim to his own bad karma. That a pair of vengeful bounty hunters had not already killed him.

But there would be no proof. He could only hope that he was still alive and still making rude sarcastic quips in the face of Death.

Heero swallowed dryly and chased after the bohemian. There were faint tracks of boots cutting through the wet ditch and heading into the twisted array of trees at the base of the hill. Through vines and the thick brush Heero pushed into the darkness, his eyes detecting the dim highlights of blue moonlight on the canopy above and on the entanglement of logs, sticks, and long grasses under his feet.

Panic and dread drove a stake through him by the thunderclaps of bullets firing into the air in rapid succession just ahead. He stopped dead in his tracks. When the sounds faded into silence, he cursed hastily under his breath and went as quickly as the dark forest would allow him. He felt so stupid for wasting time—the sound of bullets being fired would lead him straight to Duo, or whatever happened to be left of him.

__

Why the hell did he leave? Heero was frightened but anger could always find its way around that. _That damned troublemaker, why can't he just stay still for a few damned minutes!_

When he would stumble in the dark, he would doggedly drag himself from the ground and wipe the slashes of blood appearing on his face from the jagged edges of logs and the sting of thorns. Long ago he had lost all purposeful sense of direction, only clawing forward with blind hopes of stumbling along the bohemian's path, blind hopes of finding Duo along a haphazard trail in the night.

The Japanese man grunted in surprise as the mud flew away beneath his feet and sent him to the ground, growling as he felt a dull discomfort beneath him. He pushed away the log that jabbed into his stomach. He crawled onto his haunches and breathed quietly, trying to interpret the darkness. It was impossible. Duo could be anywhere, and the trail of gunshots had disappeared. The moon had long since fled behind an impenetrable film of clouds and plunged the forest into true darkness. There was a slim glow of light, but none could seep through to where Heero was now. His only choice was to either stagger blindly through the dark, hoping luck would steer him, or wait until the clouds passed and moonlight returned.

On his haunches, trying to gather his wits about him, he pondered the probability of ever finding Duo before dawn, before he possibly bled dry. And worse of all, he wondered how much of his fault it would be if he never found him, alive and smiling, again.

Before more doubts could infect his mind, there was a sign of hope in nothing but black. A disturbing volley of bullets cut the air and an enraged, warning scream echoed simultaneously. Very near by. Heero twisted his head to the right and staggered to his feet, ignoring the fresh cuts bleeding along his arms from the invisible, thorny brush as he crept towards the source of the sound. He was careful this time not to bumble blindly through the dark, hovering low the ground and holding his hands out to serve as radar for unseen items in his path. Eventually, the darkness began to give into a dim illumination, one that was starchy and white and artificial.

And the voices. He could hear them now. A familiar velvet tone cried out in rough, gruff exclamations of pain and rage, amongst the snarling male tones snapping out simultaneously

Only a few more meters and the distant, washy glow had sharpened into a white glare of headlights pouring out onto the vegetation and spilling down the hill. Heero quickly hid himself behind a nearby trunk and reined in his breathing as he pressed his back against the cold, damp moss of the maple trunk. He took one last deep breath and carefully peered around. Blinding white glare was all he saw at first, painting the stressed lines of his face pale white. Eventually he gave his eyes time to adjust and absorbed the sight laid out before him.

In the thick foliage, there was a small clearing, ripped into the ground by the wheels of the several small cars that circled the dirt arena. Their headlights glared into the night and cast light on the sick event in the center circle. Heero growled, unable to distinguish faces and bodies from the blurring shadows silhouetted at this distance, and stalked closer. The strong aroma of wild berries inflamed his senses as he pressed to a thorny raspberry bush dense enough to shield him from being seen while allowing him a clear vantage. White light glared, but he glared in return and eventually he could see exactly what was happening.

But it wasn't any better.

A low, vicious growl formed in Duo's throat and hissed through his clenched teeth before a boot bashed squarely into his face and Duo's neck whipped backwards. Little torrents of blood leaked down his nose, his split lip ripping open again and bleeding down his chin when he struck the ground. On his shoulder, with all of his weight and the momentum from getting kicked in the face. He keened out, but quickly bit down on his lip swallow it, and the brunet criminal lay prone and vulnerable. The looming shadows of six men of similar height and loathsome dispositions chuckled lightly amongst themselves as one kicked dust in to Duo's dirt- and blood-crusted mouth and eyes. He spit out a mouthful of red into the dirt and coughed harshly.

They chuckled lightly, as if some one was making a cute little joke about stock prices at tee-time, dressed in pastel polo shirts, clubs underarm and lemonade in hand. It was disgusting. Heero's stomach was in absolute revulsion and he had to resist the taste of vomit rising and the urge to retch.

Only after he'd clamped his palm against his mouth and his churning constitution had calmed down did he find the nerve to look up again.

The man whom Heero recognized better as an unconscious body dangling off a semi-truck with a broken nose stepped forward again, looming over Duo. Though Heero couldn't see the expression, to hear the malicious threat in the bounty hunter's voice explained all the loathing.

"How do you like it, you fucking whore! I bet you like to be roughed around, don't you, you filthy animal!" The man named John screamed down at Duo, who was still reeling in dizzy sensations of pain and groaning reluctantly, and delivered another solid kick that sent him rolling. "You think you're so advanced, so smart! Newsflash! You're not!"

Duo struck the metal grill of a black coup with more than force than he should have and slumped to the ground, gasping into the dirt.

"You're just evolutionary pond scum clouding the surface! Nature's very own flaming fuck-ups!" John screamed, stalking after his prey. "And I'll never allow you to waltz into our lives and leech off all our honest hard work like the monsters you are!"

The bohemian had long since bled out all his pleasantries and his true anger had come to the surface. His now lethal, vengeful eyes burned death threats into the bounty hunters skin, promised to tear him limb from limb, very slowly. It would have been enough to frighten any reasonable man, but John's rage seemed to override that.

Duo struggled to twist his face out of the dirt, glaring upward, arching his lip at the sour taste of blood in his mouth. He growled loudly, sounding more like a cornered dog than a young man. His velvet voice had turned to wet gravel sliding across aluminum sheets. Pure, undiluted, useless fire. Even his teeth flashed like an animal as John finally walked over, forcefully fisted his hand around his skin, and dragged him up by the nape of his neck. Duo snarled in anger, conveying just how much affection had for him, and spat in his eye.

The bounty hunter didn't move for a second, his hand gripped around the bohemian's neck so tightly that it was turning bright red, and suddenly thrust his knee as hard as he could into his stomach.

Duo crumpled like a rag doll and lay wheezing on the ground.

John leaned down yanked him back up to eye level, and this time by his hair. Now Heero saw it: the reason Duo hadn't swung back and dished good Hell to his middle-aged captors, who were suffering from mid-life crises and persistent love handles. Industrial-strength rope had been knotted brutally around his wrists and his knees. The rope was so rough, and had been tied so tightly, that there were bleeding chaffing marks over his wrists, all caked in dirt.

Duo's shoes rested in ashes next to a red gallon of gasoline and charred matches, another blow to his pride. There was a breakout of blood extending around his waist, and tiny lines caked in his hair from the staples from the staple gun lying beside one of the bounty hunter's feet.

John allowed Duo's bare feet some purchase on the dirt as he pulled him up by his hair, but his legs seemed too overwhelmed in pain to do much but shake with rage and slump beneath him. But the bounty hunter didn't stand for that. With another merciless yank, bringing out another bestial screech of mixed rage and frustration from Duo, he hissed at him.

"And I'll get everyone of you bastard children and then hunt down each of your demented parents for bringing little shits like you into my decent world, threatening my children and my way of life!" he bellowed at Duo and his pain-ridden but defiant face. From his distance, even Heero could imagine the horrible, meaty, ignorant taste of his breath on his face. "Can you understand what I'm saying, fucking lowlife?!"

For a moment, the bounty hunter paused. His face was flushed in the stark white headlights, glaring on silently into the night. And his nose seemed to be deliciously broken from their first encounter. This fleeting pause gave the pistol-whipped criminal the opportunity to scrap up his voice to respond.

"Loud and clear, _fucker_," Duo rasped, smirking happily.

John's face twisted in fury and he lashed out at Duo again, this time putting his fist around his neck and squeezing it until he could feel his throat beginning to collapse beneath it. Duo was gritting his teeth and resisting the screaming pain, turning faintly purple in the face. His arms twitched violently, wanting to claw at the suffocating hand at his neck. John sneered happily and released him moments before he would have blacked out.

Throwing the bohemian forcefully into the dirt, it initiated a quick round of laughter and scattered applause from his bounty-hunting buddies. Duo's defiant grin was quickly lost to agony's hard fist as it struck him in his stomach, knocking the air and the wits from him. John dumped his body on the ground again and ground the side of his face into the dirt with his shoe for good measure, before stepping back and admiring his work.

The once graceful man managed to tax his muscles enough and clumsily lift his battered body onto all fours. He slowly turned his only to see the boot swinging toward him and the dark shadows looming in a death circle around him, stinging headlights burning behind them. The tip of the boot stabbed into a rib, propping him up onto his knees ever so gently, before one of the other bounty hunters handed John a crowbar and it came down on the back of the bohemian's head. Duo barked out a rough "Fuck!" before collapsing to the dirt again. Amazingly, he had not been instantly knocked out.

John was not satisfied yet, sneering and tossing the crowbar away. Perhaps bent on venting his rage on the not-so-innocent con man until his blood rained down on the dirt and Duo smirked in defiance no more, he lifted him up again. Luckily for Duo, it was by collar of his shirt.

He watched with sadistic pleasure as the bohemian's blood and dirt-marred face lolled backwards as if he were dead, his black baseball cap secured to his head with staples and his skin pocked with various cigarette burn marks. Cigarettes from his own pocket. But there was no smile on the bounty hunter's face. "And I swear to that good Lord in Heaven, I'll do whatever it takes to accomplish that. I will." Duo frowned at him, still half-gasping for air. "Even if it kills—well, you!"

John picked him up in one hand, as if he weighed no more than a few pounds of flesh and bones, by the chest and flung him through the air. He struck the hood of a fire-red Mustang and then volleyed to the dirt and folded lifelessly. Another snarl escaped him before his rage finally gave in, just struggling to get air into his pained lungs. His ribs ached, his chest was covered in boot marks, and his ears throbbed as if they were going to explode from having multiple guns fired right beside them. Duo Maxwell had had the shit and fight beaten out of him.

Panting silently into the dirt and closing his eyes, Duo felt the painful tugs of a morbid smile forming on his face. "At least they can't hurt the traveler," he groaned to himself.

"Got something to say, whore?!" John roared, swinging his leg forward as if snapping a critical field goal. Heero didn't dare to look away but he was still scared shitless to watch it. Duo screamed again as he crumpled to the mud a few feet away, but this time it was only in pain. There was a bleeding gash just below his collarbone where his boot had struck him.

Heero's entire body shook with rage, but he was helpless to rush in. The sick spectators all wielded considerable firepower, pistols held causally at their hips as they laughed and made light conversation. Running in like a fool would not help Duo at all, only provide him a companion on the stairs to Hell. But what the hell was he doing, standing around doing nothing? Doing nothing!

As the bohemian writhed helplessly, trying to retain a few scraps of his pride by crawling to his knees, John kneeled next to him, glancing smugly at the back of his head. "So, not so powerful now, are you?" he snarled smoothly. "No, don't try to get up. You'll only hurt yourself in your condition." John laughed infuriatingly and stood back up.

Duo gasped for air as the bounty hunter nudged him over with his boot with mocking gentility, sprawling him on his back. A mix of pain and paralyzed fury contorted his face into something mindless and ugly, anger gleaming in his violet eyes. John stood over him and surprisingly didn't kick him in the face again, just smiled down at the prostrate criminal.

"Do you really think you're a person, huh? Did you ever believe for one moment that you're even half the being that we are, you sick twisted thing? What did your mother say to you? What did she purr into your ear when you cried, realizing what you were—the monster you were?" The bounty hunter began to pace shortly around him.

"And did you believe it? Did you go out to play and think that your monstrosity had been forgiven, just like that? A kiss to make everything better, when she knew she couldn't change what was really wrong. You were just living a sick illusion. A half-life, to fit your blasphemous half-soul!"

Duo only glared in return, promising slow and agonizing murder. His agony and impossible defeat, with blood streaming out his mouth and nose, did not stop his furious stare.

"Did you hear me, you pile of shit!"

Finally, all bohemian nobility shattered. "I hear you, fucking pansy!" Duo screamed back, curling his lip dangerously as he growled in a ragged voice.

The bounty hunter roughly dragged him from the ground, snarling back at him. "What?!"

"My mother—" Duo rasped, his head whirling in a bright dizzy swirl from being moved so quickly. But the snide smirk quickly chased it away. "My mother died in an attempt to try and save me from those fucking men who slaughtered my family, my friends, and all the people who had loved me, in cold blood. She died because she knew I wouldn't waste her sacrifice. She loved me and knew I deserved to live. She _wanted_ to save me."

"I knew her kind, philandering around shamelessly with beasts. She was a dirty, wanton slut who deserved to burn in Hell," John snarled. "She probably didn't know the horrible sacrilege she had committed, keeping slime like you here on Earth."

"What about your mother? Is she alive, John?" Duo hissed promptly, flashing lethal teeth in a grimace-smirk.

Fire flashed in the bounty hunter's eyes and he narrowed them instantly, clenching his fingers even tighter around the bohemian's collar and neck. "Your filthy tongue doesn't deserve to talk about my mother!" he screamed. He was almost horrified to see that Duo hadn't passed out yet, even though he was crushing his throat, and continued to accuse him fearlessly.

"Is she still alive? Would she be too chickenshit to sacrifice herself for your sake?" Duo stared defiantly into his captor's eyes. "Or would she realize it would be worthless? That a bigot bastard like you isn't worth a shit, not even a second glance, let alone her life?"

John snapped and violently pounded the limp waif into the ground in an indescribable wave of defensive fury. Seconds later, grimy fingers dug mercilessly into Duo's bangs and hauled him from the ground, gasping and snarling in pain. His knee crushed into the bohemian's face and again a keening of pain sliced through the midnight air. The body of the notorious con man, Duo Maxwell, collapsed lifelessly into the bloodstained dirt and fought no more. All that was left was to wait for the wings of Death to flutter around him.

Maybe this was a mistake after all… At least they can't hurt Heero this way, he thought once more, staring dazedly at the black shadows that loomed silently around him, before the swirling clouds of insanity, rage, and pain took him away into unaware blackness.


	12. Part 12 THE DISCRETION OF EPIMETHEUS

Part 12 THE DISCRETION OF EPIMETHEUS

Heero's heart was breaking. He could feel it corroding in his chest, bleeding down in into the pit of his stomach, which was still heaving. It was like the melted restraints that had been used to tie him down in objectivity—neutral ground. Dull, sickening rage bubbled up in him, growing deeper and thicker with each growl of pain the bohemian ground out, moaning pitifully into the dirt. He no longer was anywhere near neutral ground. This was a slaughtering ground, plain and simple.

He clenched his fists, watching all the brutality unfold. With each new angry keening slicing the night air, Heero's anger became more and more inescapable.

The Japanese man grimaced in the shadows, teetering on the need for a decision. It was a delicate situation. Well, as delicate as a spiteful pistol-whipping could be. Dive in rashly and he would perish along side the bohemian. Hold back and he would watch him bleed dry.

Meanwhile, the baton had been passed to another in the group, who promptly descended upon the battered and unconscious bohemian, one exhausted Duo Maxwell lying lifelessly on the ground. This man Heero recognized as the second unlucky bounty hunter from the truck stop only few days ago. The red, scabbing gashes along the billfolds of fat hanging around his neck weren't becoming with the disgruntled expression to match. This one didn't seem as overtly violent as John had been, as he made a pathetic attempt to snarl and accuse and strike fear into his victim and ground Duo's face into the dirt with a hefty boot.

His body groaned, but only out of a subconscious reflex. Heero suspected he was too far gone into darkness to notice it. He knew Duo wouldn't be hurt as badly by this new bounty hunter already—he was not enjoying this nearly as maliciously as John had enjoyed it—but that didn't change the fact that he was still hurting him, and doing it with a smirk on his face.

Silhouetted sinisterly against the glaring white headlights, the bounty hunter with the broken nose rejoined the circle watching the display and smugly folded his arms, as Duo might have done had the tables been turned. There was no doubt he wouldn't pass an opportunity to strike back at the bounty hunter, if he made it through the night, that was. Heero paused in his morbid train of thought. He wondered vaguely what Duo would have done if he were watching from the bushes, not bleeding on the ground. It gave him a minute glimmer of hope paired with only a very raw instinct of an idea.

__

'If you didn't happen to know, I've only survived like this for so long because I know when to follow my gut instincts,' the memory of the bohemian hissed in his brain.

He moved off into the darkness of the forest again, his lips crushed together in a scowl, little lines of sweat already appearing along his temples. Keeping distinctly away from the light, Heero ran noiselessly into the safety of night, glaring in the direction of the torture circle as he moved. The Japanese man crept around to higher ground, above the circle of cars.

He was panting as he prowled low to the ground, mimicking the fluid motions of the black-clad bohemian as best he could. His used his palms to ward off the abundance of thorny vegetation and he made sure to step carefully, knowing he had no time to waste.

Finally, still keeping his glare fixed on the circle of shadowed bounty hunters, still cringing at each roar of pain that was pounded out of Duo, he had positioned himself on higher ground, peering down at the dully-gleaming trunks of the compact yuppie cars. It was difficult to see the mud-flecked license plates in the dark, but Heero crawled closer and memorized them neatly, running his icy-cold, sore fingertips over the embossed metal, whisking the information away into his brain

Duo's voice rang out again, echoing into the woods only to be heard by himself and the collection of bounty hunters. Glancing over the curves of the red Corvette parked beside him, Heero frowned once more at the sight.

The slim frame of the bohemian slumped painfully into the mud, shuddering madly in a confusing mix of pain and suppressed rage. He'd barely been able to pull himself out of unconsciousness, but luckily there had been a man to beat him awake.

The angry fist of a new executioner hovered at the man's waist, waiting to curl back and strike again. He barked some wordless slur at Duo, marked with half-drunken fury, and the transparent green bottle gripped in his other fist shattered into a glittering shower on the bohemian's head, raining down on him. Mud and blood was caked into his chestnut hair, and dirt covered his face like a twisted makeup as he climbed to his knees clumsily. He had no use of his arms or hands—they were tied behind him, and his torso was quickly going numb. As soon as he labored to a half-upright position, violet eyes fluttering and half-lidded but still weakly glaring at his torturer, the merciless butt of a semi-automatic bashed into the side of his face. Duo bit his tongue and tasted blood as he spun back into the dirt.

Meanwhile, dark blue eyes spit fire at the bounty hunter currently laughing at the pain he'd inflicted and happily tossing up the gun in his palm, getting ready to swing it again. Like a sick boxing toy, one that bobbed back only to be punched again, Duo sat up with dead, distant eyes, moving in what seemed like slow motion. Moving a little like there was suicide on was simmering the brain.

Another pistol butt bit into his face.

Heero nearly slammed his fist onto the trunk of the car in frustration, but caught himself before it got him caught. He decided it was better to move then waste time being angry while Duo was beaten some more, just for the kicks of six very sick men.

Out of the ring of six cars forming the ring of white headlights, only five truly were in a circle. The sixth, probably owned by a procrastinator, had no room in the circle and was parked haphazardly behind them, the right headlight closely wedged between two cars. It was this rather boxy and clumsy looking one, an old grey model, which Heero decided to take. Noticeably unlocked, Heero lifted the metallic latch slowly, avoiding unnecessary noise that would tip six rather ticked-off hunters to his location and his undesirable doings. The door swung open and the Japanese man slunk inside.

A pair of furry pink die hung statically suspended from the rearview mirror. The pungent taste of cologne seemingly infected the very fabric of the interior and stung Heero's nose. It wasn't bohemian perfume, that was for sure. But it would have to do.

With his stomach pressed on the seat, Heero peered cautiously out the window, into the ring of white light. Even thrashed and bleeding and half-conscious, Duo couldn't seem to not cause trouble. A fist twitched violently as it waited to strike him again, a foul face snarling down at him in his reeling haze. The bohemian's violet eyes had long gone dull, and he barely registered the grown man screaming in his ears.

Heero bent down and crawled into the seat, instinctively crouching low so the threadbare steering wheel prodded at his collarbone. The Japanese man was still panting nervously as he closed his fingers around the metallic shape of the keys sitting idly in the ignition. Peering out the window, the shadowed forest and moonlight greeted him, a symphony of screams and angry roars comprising its morbid soundtrack.

An unseen, ghastly fist squeezed his chest, feeling like it was slowly crushing him; his heart wouldn't seem to stop throbbing painfully. Under his breath, he began to count.

"_Son_—_Ni_—_Ichi!_"

He gunned the ignition. Six heads whipped in his direction, startled, glaring expressions in a variety of grimy flavors. The current executioner pulled his boot from Duo's battered gut and let the body of one groaning bohemian to collapse into the mud as he half-gaped.

Heero growled to himself and glared defiantly back at the bounty hunters as he pulled the car into gear and thundered forward with a gurgling, mistreated bastard of an engine beneath him. It wasn't the best-kept car, he could surmise.

The six glaring expressions soon turned to shock and disbelief and regrets of not filing for better car insurance as metal clashed and crumpled like paper. Heero tore into the backside of the black coup and let out a sharp breath of surprise as the vehicle jarred him back with unexpected force. It was for only a second, however, that those disgruntled bounty hunters took to hover in shock, that Duo took to lift his bleeding head to see a furious traveler behind the wheel, and that Heero took to slam back on the gas. He spun the wheel and smashed deliciously into the Corvette, completely spearing the passenger side door and collapsing the metal frame.

Luckily, it seemed that he'd picked the ugly car with the unbreakable frame of steel.

Like a maniac at gunpoint trying to thrash away, Heero cursed and threw the demolition-derby tactic out the window and opted to run. The obviously pissed bounty hunters were clamoring shamelessly over the hoods of their cars in their hurry to get to the intruder on their battering session. Each scrambled to find his gun. Snapping something indistinct to himself, Heero lunged down to shift into reverse. A bullet bit a jagged hole into the windshield and sliced through the stuffing beside his head, followed in succession by five more. They burst onto the hood and lights, as the tires squealed from the force Heero slammed on the gas, veering the car sharply backwards.

More bullet fire rattled and bit holes into the back of the car, knocking the shitty bumper half-cocked and letting it trail in the dirt. The assault pierced whatever happened to unluckily be in the trunk at the moment full of holes, golf clubs or perhaps a strangled body or two. More whirred by, putting holes into the windshield, painting the glass an opaque blue around the jagged edges.

As stuffing exploded randomly in the seat around him, popping loudly, Heero quickly leaned over again and threw the car once again into drive, the furious din growing louder outside. Finally, the engine roared, the tires squealed and spat dirt, and he stormed down the narrow dirt trail from which the cars had used to travel up into the forest.

In frustration, the men holstered their guns or shoved them into a grimy pocket, and they scrambled to their respective cars. A glowering man clamored into John's passenger side, pure rage etched into his scowl. Apparently, he wasn't too pleased with his car being hijacked and then shot full of holes because of it.

The crumpled black coup was the last to roar into life and speed after Heero retreating vehicle, leaving a cloud of dust hovering in the chill night air and a bohemian lying, coughing and bleeding and grumbling, in the center of the dirt circle. Duo lifted his head and looked out into the darkness with glassy eyes, now that the glaring headlights had disappeared. He spat another mouthful of blood and, with a groan, began the delicate process of dragging himself from the mud.

Heero, meanwhile, was cursing and blessing himself at the same time. He was thanking God for his inborn talent for driving, but pounding himself for pressing his scant luck. His getaway car bucked roughly on the uneven, winding road and loud buckling of metal could be heard, the sides heavily scraping smaller trees as he motored off. Heero wondered why he just had to pick the car of the bounty hunter that had decided to drive a flaming lemon to the slow gangland slaying of a con man.

The car jarred and bucked like a distempered mustang hoping to spit out the foreign bit that was Heero Yuy. Low branches and stubborn foliage struck the windshield with disturbing force as he curved down the pitch-black road, running almost blindly.

But his luck could and would worsen. John's passenger was the only man with free hands, and quickly started firing at Heero. A bullet shattered the back window, whirring inches from his head. With the constant, high-speed motion, it significantly decreased his chance of being struck, but it didn't change the fact that he could still be hit.

Eventually, Heero began to pull away and few bullets bit into the glass and headrest, inches off target, and there were less explosions of stuffing by his ear. His fearless or rather reckless driving soon began to pay off. He had raced nearly a mile down the road and widened the between him and the bounty hunters. Plenty of time for the battered Duo to escape.

Although he really hadn't thought about setting aside a similar escape plan for himself, Heero remembered grimly.

Lit up like skeletons in the stark white headlights, it was impossible for Heero to see the tree trunks screaming at him in time. It was too sharp a turn for any human being to make. With a breathless gasp of shock, the blue-eyed traveler slammed his foot vaguely down at the brake and hoped to hit it and the muscles ached in his arms as he tried to spin the wheel. But it was for nothing. Bright white headlight and metal crumpling like paper filled his vision before his forehead buckled forward.

Sharp discomfort licked up his side, and unconsciousness was trying to claim him, and pain tried to seduce him. It screamed in his head. It was dizzy, it was all scraps of reality, and it was all a blurry, achy stew. The glass of the windshield had shattered a bit and piled down on him, filling up his lap and his hair with little glittering pieces. After what seemed like an immeasurable amount of time to him, Heero groaned as he was pulled from a hazy dream-like state of pain into a sharp, crisp one.

The car was mangled against the trunk of an ancient oak tree, the metal gleam of engine jarred from underneath the crumpled hood. One of the headlights flickered, plunging in and out of darkness. Nasty white steam hissed from the engine, escaping into the air. He was lucky he hadn't been thrown from the already-broken windshield, but Heero had been pinned just enough by the steering column to keep him in place. He realized now that it was causing the unpleasant sensation of something pressing his stomach against his spinal cord.

The traveler groaned into the steering wheel, where his forehead had buckled. Rubbing at the bruise that would be forming there, he hissed painfully and slumped forward, trying to catch his breath. His brain swam, but he knew he couldn't afford to sit and try and ride it out. Smoke was leaking inside from the engine, something else was prodding into his side uncomfortably, and the smell of gasoline started filling the car.

Heero steadied himself enough to regain some of his bearings and twisted to get out, rattling the doorknob and weakly flinging it open. But the dizziness dug its vicious teeth into him and he collapsed clumsily out of the door onto the grass as soon as he tried to stand. Spitting out grass and dirt, his brain wheeled and struggled to straighten itself in time. The Japanese man was lifting himself onto his feet when the searing white headlights returned and he turned his aching head into them.

Dust and gravel hissed as the wheels halted and five pursuing cars slowed and glared at him, their engines growling deeply into the night. Heero panted, furrowing his brows and frowning. Instincts, huh? If only he'd had the instinct to devise an escape plan.

Like an animal refusing to die, Heero crawled painfully to his knees and glared steadily into the blinding white lights, straightening himself like a man before the fury of the bounty hunters.

John, however, found the display of prideful defiance rather amusing. Smirking broadly, even visible through the brilliant haze, he popped open his door and smiled venomously at Heero. He received an expression of icy daggers in return, the Japanese man clenching his fist and refusing to stagger, though his head rang like a church bell.

The bounty hunter, his knuckles stained with Duo's blood, leaned against the open car door and began to clap complacently, congratulating Heero in the most insulting of ways. Now he understood what Duo had so eloquently described as a bigot piece of shit. "That was magnificent," he said, clapping alone as the others clamored out of their cars, their faces concealed by the white glare. "Truly, a beautiful try."

Heero only glared, hoping to melt the man in his shoes. But in truth, it was to bury the slow boiling rage and fear twisted up inside him, hoping he wouldn't lash out at the man like he had to the bohemian and stoop to his disgusting level.

"Okay, accomplice," John said loudly. "Before we kill you, why don't you tell me what it is about those things that rots your brain into puddles of shit? Why help those walking damnations?"

"What?" Heero barked lowly, snarling. He had the suspicion he knew whom he was speaking so highly of, and he didn't like it.

"You know," he replied, grinning darkly. "Those beasts. Those filthy animals. Demons, even. What is so goddamned attractive in those things that pulls you to them? How did that one trick you into helping him? Did he bewitch you?"

A dangerous nerve flared in Heero's chest. "Duo is not a demon!" he snarled loudly, grinding his fists into his palms until blood stung his skin. "_Bastard_."

John laughed and cupped a hand to his ear, leaning forward as if to catch the words that had been swept off in the wind. Heero loathed watching his deceptive, snake-like grin of hatred and revulsion rolled into the seductive wrap of power of violence. "I'm sorry, what did you say? I didn't quite get that last part."

"He's right. I'm no demon," a low voice cut in suddenly. "I'm Shinigami."

Then the front of John's head exploded in red and he crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

For a moment, time stood still and Heero silently watched the bohemian standing guilty over the fallen corpse, knowing that chaos would erupt in only an instant. But the soulless look in Duo's eyes hardened to ice and he moved one moment before the rest of the world.

Leveling his gun again, he noiselessly twisted his torso and aimed. Two thunderclaps bucked out of the barrel and flung two bounty hunters to the ground, precise red holes carved between their hateful eyes. The remaining three whirled their arms up in a panic to retaliate, but Duo easily and efficiently tossed the emptied pistol to the dirt and took the auxiliary from his pocket. Bullets flew and three dead hunters slumped to the mud, sprawled across the hood, and crumpled over the door respectively. When the brief din died down, only the traveler and the bohemian remained, standing stone still. Heero panted noiselessly, in a daze, watching the listless face of the bohemian, somehow waiting for the worst to happen and dreading he would somehow die on him, right there and then.

After glancing dully down at the pistol in his fist, Duo relaxed his wrist and the semi-automatic clattered uselessly into the dirt. And then he fell.


	13. Part 13 THE SEDUCTION OF PAIN

Part 13 THE SEDUCTION OF PAIN

"No."

"Stop arguing with me!" Heero snapped, his voice turning unnaturally immature and impatient. In the dim of night, two fierce blue eyes threatened violet back, and the traveler stood waiting sullenly with the metal door swung open at his hip.

Heero's gaze fell uselessly on the battered bohemian and could do nothing to convince him, only burn hopelessly on his face. His fingers clutched around the slippery metal frame, gritting in frustration. Just Duo's luck—it'd started to rain after he'd been thoroughly beaten. What a way to lighten the mood. The sudden summer rain shower had drenched both of them and now the steam rising off his frustrated expression could almost be seen.

In the passenger seat, Duo slumped back without a sliver of his former spirit. All of it seemingly had been emptied through the beating and bruising he'd received at the hands of the now deceased bounty hunters. And his body showed it.

Water matted his drenched, shoulder-length hair to his face and neck, adding to the image of the disarrayed bohemian, along with the blood and shadows of bruises covering his body. A thin sheen of water-diluted red leaked steadily from his nose, pooling pathetically in the corner of his lips. There were cuts scabbing on his face, the nape of his neck, and around his collarbone—mixed haphazardly with the midnight-colored bruises appearing from his neck down to his chest. His arms and legs hung limply from an exhausted torso like the disturbing limbs of a disowned doll, immobile without the guiding hands of its puppeteer. And, staring down at the beautiful, marred profile of the bohemian, he knew that puppeteer was gone. Duo's eyes were not tired like the rest of his thrashed being; they were cold, precise, and dead.

After all the bodies had fallen and Duo had collapsed, Heero had managed to lift the scrawny con man up and sling him up in a fireman's hold, hurrying for a new escape vehicle. Looking back, it was needless to hurry. Duo had slaughtered each of his pursuers and left their bodies where they had fallen. They wouldn't be following.

Over the time of the beating, the dark blanket of clouds had liquefied into a rolling cover of awaiting rain, which had poured down without warning. Heero had dragged both Duo and himself to the car, gently placing his travelmate in the passenger side of the red Corvette, but not before the impromptu rainstorm had soaked him to their bones. And now, rattled awake by the rocky path beneath the Corvette's wheels on the long trail down, Duo refused to move an inch or let Heero assist him at all.

The Japanese man was quickly dwindling on his patience reserves. His heart had broken minutes, seethed in a boiling puddle of fury in his stomach, jolted back to life with an injection of adrenaline, and most recently, had been enraged by an incredibly stubborn bohemian. He couldn't take much more of this. With the Corvette parked at an awkward angle in the muddy, waterlogged ditch beside the Isuzu, he was itching to leave this place as fast as the engine would take him. There was just one problem.

Duo's lifeless eyes shifted momentarily to the traveler's disgruntled face, slicked with lines of rain. And in a low, indiscriminate tone, ground out an order. "No. Get out of here and leave me the fuck alone." In his blank violet eyes, Heero could tell that there was no loathing in his expression, only this muddled signal he would be null to interpret. He started to object, but he was cut off as the bohemian moved without another word and gripped the wet handle of the door. With a surprisingly strong and careless jerk, Heero found himself being shoved to the mud and out of the way, allowing the car door to slam shut with a soft, aloof _chuck!_

Duo had _pushed_ him! That… that… _jerk_!

He staggered up to his feet and glared into the window. He pressed his palm flat against the window, hoping to catch the attention of one bleeding con man. "Duo, stop this. Don't be so fucking stubborn! Let me help you," he snapped, still pressing his hand tightly against the glass. "Open this door."

He didn't even get to see the flat, disinterested look he wore before the bohemian reached down, with one arm folded around his tender, hurting ribs, and locked the door with a flick of his wrist.

Heero frowned and pounded his fist against the glass. "Duo!"

The bohemian turned his head and Heero wasn't even sure that he was still looking in the same dimension, let alone at him instead of straight through him. "Go home, Heero Yuy. I tried to warn you that this would happen," he said flatly, speaking just loud enough to get through the glass and no louder. He turned his head to stare off into the darkness of the forest, as if the traveler wasn't even there.

"Don't be ridiculous," Heero argued back. "You _never_ said this would happen. You couldn't have known something like this would occur and neither could I." Momentarily, he won a distant glance, before Duo looked away once again, this time his movements more sluggish and jerky.

"Oh, yeah?" the bohemian asked quietly, staring dully out the window with a line of fresh blood leaking down from his nose over his lips. "Then how come I _did_ know?"

In mild horror, the traveler watched as Duo ignored it completely and let it slide down the curve of his chin and drip into his lap. "Save yourself. Go home, back where you belong. My world is no place for you to be."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Heero growled lowly, kneading his knuckles against the glass, leaning forward in frustration. '_What do you know?_ _I don't belong back there, anyway.'_

The rain pattered loudly around them, assaulting his eyes, streaming down his neck, adding to the frustrations and causing him to bare his teeth in a grimace. Again, Duo refused to look at him. And that drove him mad, more so than all the contempt that Duo was miming lifelessly through.

"Listen to me, Duo Maxwell!" He struck his fist against the glass.

The bohemian stared off dully. "Leave me here. Take the truck and go back home to where you belong. I'm a big boy; I can go on by myself. That's an order, Mr. Yuy," he lulled dispassionately. After blinking once, very slowly, the lifeless gleam in his eyes seemed to corrode, until only the raw underbelly remained. He let out a low moan that was muffled by the glass and steel separating them and the constant milieu of rain. Heero watched his lips part weakly, remove his arm from his side, and bury his head in his arms against the dashboard. Bending his head down, he agitated his bloody nose and red dripped down his face once again.

That lovely sensation of pain was apparently paying him a visit once again and the bohemian apparently thought he needed no help.

Heero angrily pulled his fist from the window and slogged through the watery layer of mud across the ground, pacing to the other side and opening the driver's side door, which Duo had not yet gotten to. In his mild panic still lingering from the bounty hunters, he'd overreacted and forgotten that Duo had only locked the one door.

Heero clamored in the seat at the odd angle of the parked Corvette, crawling over to Duo, whom was slumped semi-conscious, bleeding on the dashboard. He frowned, but wordlessly pulled the injured man from the car with utmost consideration for his substantial amount of very tender bruises and boot-marks dug into his skin. The bohemian moaned quietly as he gave into the traveler's arms and limply allowed himself to be moved. His chin rested tiredly in the warm crook of Heero's neck, drifting uneasily back and forth from consciousness, breathing quietly as he pulled him to the open door.

When he finally was seated on the edge, Heero stepped back for a moment, and then reached for the battered con man again. He didn't fully trust Duo on his feet, knowing he very well could have scraps of fight left in him and might try to pull away, so he slid his arm under the bohemian's mud-caked knees and eased his other around his shoulders. Duo rolled into his arms like water to thirsty lips and laid there without a sound, blood and rain cavorting down his cheeks. For a moment, standing there and staring downward at his rain-slicked face, the vivacious bohemian with the seductive smile looked three days dead. Heero readjusted the weight, bouncing Duo a little and lifting his knee to momentarily support him as he got a firm grip on him.

He glanced down once more as he settled both feet into the watery sheen of mud, and wanted to make a harsh, frustrated comment about Duo's behavior, but bit his tongue and held it back.

Through the rain, Heero carried Duo out of the ditch and across the muddy gravel to the passenger side door of the Isuzu. He was careful not to jar him as he walked, biting his lip. The bohemian was curled against the wet warmth of his chest and said nothing.

In order to open the door, Heero regretfully had to lower Duo and press him tightly against his side with one arm, hoping his lifeless legs would be able to support him for a moment. Weak fingers, stirred awake, clawed at his waterlogged clothes and Duo pulled himself closer to Heero as he locked an arm around his waist for support. His head rested on Heero's arm.

Although the handle was slippery with rain, the Japanese man managed to grab and turn it, popping the door open. He once again scooped Duo up in a bridal carry and climbed inside.

Inside, it was dark and stale. A misty cover of green light from the clock on the radio dusted the seat, the digital numbers silently blaring the devil's hour. Two rain-drenched bodies were soon crowded inside, the first lying the second out on the seat and crouching beside him next to the narrow seat, leaning out to slam the door shut. The tattoo of the summer rain dulled to a distant drone and the sounds of the uneven breathing came into sharp contrast. Heero turned his head from glancing out in the rain, swallowing dryly, and looked down at Duo again, panting slightly.

The bohemian was laid gingerly across the seat, lying tenderly on his back so that his muddy, frozen bare feet shivered at the driver side door and his head rested uneasily on the passenger door. In the dimness, Heero could see his teeth bared painfully at each sharp inhalation. The blood would not relent and it leaked from his nose seemingly without end. It was no help that Duo kept twisting his head and thrashing mildly in distress. Heero frowned and moved to kneel beside Duo, sitting in the foot space and the dashboard prodding into his spine in order to give the injured bohemian a full bed.

"Stop moving, you're just making it worse. It's never going to stop bleeding like that," he said, rolling his white sleeve over his palm and gently soaking up the blood dripping down his face with it. However, Duo choked roughly into his sleeve and shoved it away.

"No, it's not that—!" He tried to say, gasping in mid-sentence and flashing his teeth in a pained grimace. The bohemian bucked suddenly, arching his dripping back off the seat to wildly claw at something. He hissed, grinding his teeth. "Oh, shit!" As he keened out between his teeth, Heero climbed up beside him so his soaked, trembling legs pressed into his side and he could put a hand on his knee. The confusion on his face soured into horror as Duo pulled a gleaming, dripping thing from his back with a half-cry of pain and tossed to the dashboard. The bloody pocketknife blade clattered wetly to a stop and began to drip.

Duo panted harshly as acid sparks of pain shot out from every nerve in his back. His chest rose and fell almost violently, like an animal thrashing against the cage of his ribs. Once he had thrown the knife, he collapsed tiredly to the seat and closed his eyes. "Goddammit—I couldn't even feel that until now."

"So. The pain's getting getting worse," Heero said solemnly. He wanted him to admit it.

The bohemian dryly swallowed some of the discomfort and nodded.

Meanwhile, Heero scavenged through his luggage, a knee propped on either side of the bohemian's shaking legs as he leaned over and rummaged. Retrieving what he wanted, he tossed it impatiently into the shadows. The ratty cot pillow and his own sweater, recently removed, were clutched in his hands as he quickly went to tending to the violently battered con man. Duo took the pillow and shoved it awkwardly beneath his head while the shirt was wrapped around his muddy ice-cold feet. Heero leaned down and bundled it tightly with the sleeves, assuring they would remain warm. The traveler turned, still straddling Duo's legs, and saw that the bohemian's arms had dropped limply to his sides and his fingers brushed the floor. Pain blurred his expressions.

"How is it?" He asked uncertainly.

"Just as good as it looks, Heero. Listen, there's some—some bandages and stuff in my suitcase… Could ya get 'em for me? I feel like horseshit—"

"Yeah," Heero acknowledged. He leaned over the seat again, and groped through the layers of luggage until the cold metal claps of the con man's suitcase struck his knuckles. Heaving it onto the back of the seat, he balanced it quickly and carefully, tossing the latches and opening it. Beneath him, the bleeding bohemian shifted to lift his aching head, gritting his teeth.

"The lid pocket there. Yeah. Grab those antibiotics, too. I'll need 'em."

After collecting a roll of bandages, a curious metal tin that appeared to be handmade antibiotics and a plastic bottle of aspirin along with a bottle of water, the Japanese man also snatched up the blanket and handed it to Duo, whose cold, muddy, and bloodstained hands snatched after it as eagerly as he could in his state.

"Jesus fuck, this hurts…Thanks," Duo coughed, shivering and pulling it around him. The bohemian gritted his teeth and settled his face against the fabric of the seat. He added eloquently, "Man, this sucks."

"Roll over and let me see that wound. You're bleeding all over the seat."

"Oh yeah, that's the worst thing right about now," Duo commented sarcastically.

Despite the sneer, he managed to follow orders and lay gingerly on a bruise on his side, his face pressed into the seat, breathing tiredly. Movement agitated the knife-wound and the coppery scent of fresh blood sifted into the air. Duo's nose cringed and his muscles ached, tensing around the wound.

Heero set down the rest of his supplies beside the bohemian's feet and leaned down with the antibiotics in hand, peering down to examine the wound. Lifting the blood- and rain-stained black shirt, Heero saw in the dark red slit in the small of Duo's back, just to the left of his spine. And above that, gashes administered by vicious boots and fists, bruising his skin.

He frowned. "I can't treat them all like this, and besides, your clothes are soaking. Take off your shirt."

The intense blue-violet eyes of the bohemian settled on him, analyzing him sharply. Eventually, they dimmed and lowered. Unbuttoning a line of hidden buttons at his collar, the shirt became wide enough for Duo to slide over his head and his hat and revealed the true horrific nature of the bruising to light along his slim, knobby frame. Unfortunately, the exhaustion had caught up with him and sunk into his bones, draining them as he undressed. Duo became half-tangled in his own clothing and Heero thoughtlessly leaned forward to help. The bohemian flinched noticeably as Heero helped to pull it over his head, but made no move to object and simply remained still, the cotton blanket collected in his lap. Heero balled up the bloody thing and tossed it to the floor.

Duo glanced at the sweater from beneath the rim of his black baseball hat, then back to the traveler as he continued with his nursing work.

There now were tiny trails of drying blood striping the side of Duo's head, knotting his hair, from the staples lodged into his head. Heero frowned at the disgusting thought of having one's hat stapled to one's head for the sheer sick pleasure of the torture, with bounty hunters sneering above you in your misery. But when leaned forward to fix it, a forceful hand clutched his wrist. His fingertips were barely brushing the rim of the hat.

Equally forceful, nearly glowing blue eyes sealed his lips shut out of their sheer intensity. "No touching," Duo said, tossing Heero's wrist down. "The face and hair is personal, and I told you to leave the personal shit alone, okay?"

"I'm not going to let you sit there with goddamn staples lodged in your head," the traveler said firmly with an underlying sourness. He was still straddling Duo's legs, scowling down at him. "That's just foolish."

"I can handle that later. You just do the rest, please." Duo's head swayed slightly, limply pulling the blanket over himself. "I'm fucking tired."

Heero complied obediently as the waifish bohemian laid down on the seat as trails of blood seeped from the wounds he'd suffered at the hands of six now-deceased men. The ratty cotton blanket was already stained with blood and mud, clutched to warm Duo's bare torso. Heero was unhappy as he gauged the severity of the wounds, but he had no other choice. Using his short fingernails, he managed to pry the lid off the tin without slicing himself and was presented with a dark red substance smelling of herbs that dried chalky and mildly acidic on his skin. His nose twitched at the foreign smell.

"What is this, exactly?"

"Like I said, antibiotics, healing shit. Whatever you so desire to call it," he slurred half-sarcastically.

Heero remained silent, still staring at the strange-smelling substance he held in his hand.

"It's Mother's home recipe, for scraped knees, bumps and bruises, or when I got gang-beat on the way home from school," Duo quipped darkly. "Trust me. That stuff works a thousand times better than any alcohol and it doesn't sting as bad, either." The bohemian's semi-pleasant tone faded into a bout of coughing and disappeared into tensions and pain. Heero didn't go to work instantly, though, and only stared through the darkness, still straddling Duo's shivering legs with the strange tin cupped in his palm. Something distrustful stirred within him, and all his suspicions began to become overly curious.

"Duo, how did she make this?"

"Leave the dead alone, Heero, and mind the living before they join them," Duo warned lowly, rolling onto his stomach and nudging his chin into the crook of his crossed elbows. The hidden barbs in his tone were not lost on the Japanese man. Silently, Heero nodded, and went to the task of tending to all the wounds.

Sometime later, the bohemian was lost to the world from the medical ministrations and had given into a black hole of sleep. It was restless and lifeless. Duo wasn't aware that he had been asleep until his eyes opened upon a much lighter shade of black sky and the dimming of the stars overhead through a glass truck window. Along his back, soothing warmth seeped into his wounds and the restrictions of bandaging lacing his torso. He'd been injured little beyond his chest; the bounty hunters had delighted most in hearing pained bursts of breath exploding from his chest and watching him struggle to take in a breath. Already, he could feel his skin knitting itself together with a mild stinging sensation.

Gingerly leaning up, he shot a level glance toward the traveler. A sliver of moonlight struck the back of his eyes for a moment, watching the Japanese man who sat harmlessly in the driver's seat looking out the windshield, and they glinted as fluorescent silver orbs for a split instant. Unbeknownst, Duo gave the traveler an impatient expression, one that could easily dissect him with even the slightest glance.

"Go on then," he half-taunted in his ill-mood "Berate me. Tell me what an idiot I am. I've been longing to hear it from your lips, Heero," the bohemian sneered tiredly.

Heero turned and stoic blue eyes responded dully, "I'm not going to."

Duo considered him guardedly for a moment, finally slipping into a mildly painful sitting position with his knees folded against the dashboard, but again his mood eroded into venom. He tossed the bloodstained pillow to the floor and stared out the windshield. "Liar. I hate liars," he hissed. Tense moments passed before Heero summoned up the raw nerve it would to confront the currently very disagreeable bohemian. He truly didn't want to pry into something that would upset him more than he already needed to be, but he needed at least a few answers from this questionable criminal.

"How did you get through the ropes, Duo?" Heero asked.

"I bit them." And much to the traveler's horror, the bohemian lifted his arm to display the bloody slashes scabbing on the inside of his wrist, which Heero had missed in the bandaging process. Duo limply let it fall back to his lap and still refused all eye contact, casually rubbing his nose and glancing around in apathy.

The traveler, however, couldn't be satisfied with burying a topic that was very much alive. His serious blue eyes fell on the profile of Duo's face in the darkness of early morning. "I thought you said those 'dumb thugs' couldn't lay a finger on you."

Duo shrugged. "Idiocy works better in numbers, I guess. Stupidity burns stronger, faster, more efficiently."

Heero frowned at the listless tone and dodgy answer. "That's not true, Duo," he said quietly. "Why did you even leave and go out there? Were you looking specifically to get in trouble?"

"No, it's just a lovely side effect," the bohemian growled dully, still not looking at him.

"Why did you do that?" Heero was demanding him patiently, but it wasn't working on the bohemian tonight, apparently.

"Do what?" Duo asked in return. Every ounce of his tone was exhausted and severely caustic.

"Why didn't you fire on them in the first place? You obviously had your gun the entire time, since you never go anywhere without it."

The bohemian glanced distantly out the window, bending his elbow against the window. He simply grunted in reply with an equally dismissive shoulder.

"Duo."

"Fuck off and let a guy get some rest, why don't you, Yuy?" the brunet bohemian said, kicking the dashboard just before he crossed his legs. The true display of hostility was his formal last name.

"I warned you that you shouldn't have let them live," Heero said, returning with a pointed look.

The other man's tone turned lethal and bitter and the moonlight gleamed on his frown, his snarling, bared sharp teeth. Still he refused to glare at the traveler, although the temper in his chest was accumulating into quite the spitfire. His eyes could have burned holes in the dashboard. He spoke in a harsh, brusque tone. "And I didn't. I sent them to Hell, Heero. I sent them to Hell just to make you happy."

"To save my life, you mean."

Duo looked darkly in his direction. "Living makes you happy, doesn't it?"

Heero frowned, but his nerve decided to still press its luck.

"I want to know why you didn't fight back, Duo. I know you're more than capable of fending off men like those, so why didn't you?" When sullen silence was obviously the only response he was going to receive, he skipped to another topic with equal single-minded determination.

He was an anthropologist of sorts now; he wasn't going to take bullshit from Duo after he'd endangered himself to save his life and only receive a wretch's appreciation in return. He was not a doormat. He'd pulled himself from out underneath his own conformity, he was traveling with a con man, a criminal—he wasn't as naïve and innocent as he may have looked. And across the way, Duo's nearly cruel blue eyes seemed to respond, '_What do you know about dangerous, little traveler?'_

"What did you do to them to make them so angry, so vindictive like that?" he asked. "God, it seemed like you had killed their children or something—"

Suddenly, his voice filled the cabin and he ground a fist on the armrest. "Nothing!" Duo suddenly barked. "I did nothing to them, absolutely nothing! But fuck—why not kill me anyway?! Clean off all the scum before it infects everything!"

Duo's outburst seemed to suck away all the audacity in the traveler's objecting blue eyes, and a simple grimace was displayed in place of another displeased, prodding question. There a sharp hurt in Heero's chest, watching the bohemian snap to no one and everyone at the same time in a strange desperation. And he'd been the one pushing him further and further until he'd reached that small breaking point.

Duo finally sighed as the steady throb of pain underlying all his swimming, seething thoughts began to rattle the inside of his brain. With an ugly frown, he snatched up the aspirin bottle that the traveler had left on the seat and ignored the piercing looks as he popped two pills into his mouth and downed them dry. He gathered up the stained pillow and blanket and crawled very carefully into the sleeper compartment, leaving without so much as a benign "good night" or even a second glance. And when he was gone, Heero sighed and allowed his forehead to rest on the steering wheel.


	14. Part 14 LETHE

Part 14 LETHE

Duo didn't wake in what seemed like forever. He didn't lie. When he was truly exhausted, Heero was afraid he might sleep himself to death. But whenever he'd glance over his shoulder, there he would be, as fully unconscious as he had been the moment, the minute, the hour before. He obviously needed the sleep and was more than welcome to get it. Heero still half-feared that precise, merciless look that had been pinned on him the night before, with no apology in the bohemian's cold face, and could use the time to get over it. It was such strong bitterness, so much that he'd never seen before. And worst of all, he knew he could do nothing about it because the eyes had looked straight through him as if they were as hollow as carved bones. And as much as he hated to admit, he was unsure of what to do. Sleep wickedly eluded him and thoughts gnawed at him while he did idled and did nothing, so like a boozehound hiding in the smear of his weekly alcohol binge, his fingers turned the ignition.

So he simply drove. The crumpled roadmap lay on the seat as his solitary companion, crisscrossed with various ink lines and foreign scribbles scratched randomly across the paper.

Heero knew it definitely wasn't any form of English, but his memory of various high school classes dictated that it wasn't Spanish, German, French, Latin, Italian, and definitely not Japanese. These guttural-sounding syllables spilled out without seeming any pattern as to what they were marking on the road map, but they were interesting. Written in Romanized letters, the words of this foreign language could seemingly sometimes go on for three or four syllables without sight of a vowel. Whatever it was, he wasn't familiar with it at all. However, it didn't interfere with any of the navigation directions, so it was simply noted with mild interest and then was overlooked. He was too busy thinking of other things to notice.

He tried burying thoughts about the bohemian in concentrating on driving, but it bubbled consistently back to the surface. Something had really dug its claws into him. The lethal poison of Duo's tone, the lack of life in his eyes, the dodgy answers that strayed far from the truth... something wasn't quite right. A part of him was lying, lying flat-out with no alternative, and he wanted to know what Duo was hiding from him. And he wanted him to look happy again; the dead-eyed Duo Maxwell had unknowingly taken away a part of himself.

Eventually, he became so engrossed in thinking that it was interfering with his driving and the white Isuzu soon rested in an old parking lot an exit and side road from their course. The tar had faded to a waxy grey covering lined with grass growing from the fissures and thriving. Crushed Coca-Cola cans scattered in the wind and a stray black cat stalked casually through the tall prairie grasses lining the unattended lot.

Heero didn't even notice that he had turned on the radio until he killed the ignition and it was no longer there. Dutifully, he took a brief inventory (Notebook, check; Sleeping Duo, check) before he decided to find some water to drink then lay down and rest for a few hours. As he rummaged on the empty passenger seat for his jacket, sniffing disdainfully at the smell of blood that remained embedded in the fabric, his eyes caught sight of the shipment dossier, which had been tossed haphazardly on the floor after Duo had bored of re-reading it one day, and he had a sudden curious urge.

The formal text seemed somehow lifeless in all its technical jabber, more than usual, and he skimmed through it. Duo was supposedly hauling assorted company orders to stock a newly established outlet in Cinq, rather uninteresting stuff. Especially unexciting for a notorious criminal. That was all well and good, but his suspicions raised as he read a certain line of the imbedded contract agreements. All funds would be paid upon delivering the entire shipment, unharmed. The clipboard it was attached to settled against his leg as the traveler glanced over his shoulder and then back out the windshield at the scrawny green ash trees lining the parking lot. Something didn't seem right.

Logically, Duo was a con man, and logically, it was clear that a reasonable con man would have found a poor slob gullible enough to be duped into giving payment first on account of a sick grandmother' or a wife and three kids to feed.' It didn't seem smart to risk being recognized again and caught when he could possibly just motor away into obscurity with another scheme tucked beneath his belt. It seemed amateurish, almost, and Heero knew that Duo was not one of those.

It was that undefined suspicion and curiosity that drove him to get out of the cabin and stroll around back. There was a muted whim in his head to open the cargo and peer inside for seemingly no reason. He had never heard Duo discuss it, and had never really wondered about it until now, and now he couldn't stop mulling over it, like a detective who had unknowingly wandered onto a crime scene and was drawn back to that spot for reasons he couldn't conceive of.

The dossier tossed and left behind on the seat, Heero went to the back of the white Isuzu and unhooked the latch that kept the back secured firmly. And as he threw it open, he thought of the grinning bohemian and felt that it all had been a lie somehow, in that friendly display of teeth, in those strange words.

Even before the back sliding door hit the ceiling, he could tell that it was completely empty. He didn't need to look for anymore than a second before the questioning again set in, in full form, eating away at him even when he stood there, completely alone.

Why con if you weren't going to get any money out of it? And the more Heero thought about it, he really couldn't think of any _good_ reason.

---

Some time later, the bohemian stirred and inhaled the smell of meat hovering somewhere nearby. A hand was extended out to him, a voice calling his name gently, but he was too drowsy to notice that someone was telling him that it was about time he ate something; he already knew that. His stomach was tossing and turning along with him on the cot, but it only thought of hunger. He lifted his head groggily, eyes closed, and simply craned his neck toward the smell. Dreams clouded his coherent brain and in its loss instincts arose instead and Duo licked his lips once before he bit down at the source of the smell, peering through a tiny opening between his eyelids. Teeth met cold bread along with warm flesh and a male voice exclaimed in surprise and possibly pain.

The warmth in his mouth disappeared very quickly and sleepily, he recognized the traveler hissing under his breath and shaking his hand. In his fingers he held a cold cut sandwich. Duo realized that he had just bitten Heero and sat bolt up as if he'd been jolted with electricity. His face was almost strangled, passing between emotions before settling on apology, shame. "I'm so sorry—" he started earnestly.

"It's alright," the Japanese man interrupted, rubbing his reddened knuckles. Half-uncertain blue eyes met his face as if it was the first time they'd spoken in centuries of tense straits. "I should have been prepared. I knew you have sharp teeth, anyway. But apology accepted."

The bohemian looked blankly at him for a moment.

Slightly nervous, his fingers twitched around the sandwich he'd managed to hang onto.

"I was trying to wake you up, but you were out. I thought you'd be hungry, so I stopped and bought you something. Then we'll be even on the dinner thing."

The bohemian horribly faked a friendly chuckle. "Thanks."

Heero nervously licked his dry lips and once again found himself going into dangerous territory, treading near the bounty hunter incident. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he replied, hanging his head ever so slightly and dodging eye contact.

"What about your wounds?"

"You don't need to worry about them. I'm just fine, now." Duo frowned. He kicked off the bloodstained blanket and hurriedly crawled up to the seat to see the travelers inflamed bite marks of his own canine teeth. "Oh, man, I'm sorry, about what I did. Is your hand okay?—Jesus, I didn't hurt'cha, did I?"

"It'll sting for a while, but I think I can manage. You didn't break the skin or anything."

"Sorry," Duo mumbled nervously, letting his smile slip for a second to let his eyebrows hitch together as if he were wrestling back some old demon who had slipped back into his mind through an unlocked back door. "Sometimes I don't wake up completely and if something startles me, then I—I don't act like myself You know what I mean, traveler?" The bohemian asked with definite lines of uncertainty marring a confident face.

"I already said that it's all right. And yeah, I know what you mean. I'm by no means a morning person, either, so don't worry about it," Heero sympathized. His strained tone of humor was flat and, but that was wholly comforting for the both of them because neither felt light-hearted enough to laugh at anything.

Respective black clouds swirled around both their brains, though neither could see the other's. The comfortless silence remained in their minds as Duo accepted the meal gratefully, with a vulnerability that seemingly leaked from all the wounds he suffered. A shyness that was unheard of creeping into his voice. After confirming that he hadn't harmed Heero and thanked him for the considerate breakfast, the bohemian lowered his eyes and crept into the front seat and exchanged a bloody blanket for a steering wheel and glowing dashboard instruments, a bologna on rye sandwich flopping out his mouth. He surprisingly seemed more than well enough to drive again with only roughly twenty-four hours of rest.

Bruises around his collarbone, which had been visible over the collar of his shirt, were completely gone and only smooth bohemian skin showed. The jerky movements his bruised ribs now were fluid, liquid, as they had been beforehand. Like someone had simply taken their hand to the canvas of Duo Maxwell and wiped the slate clean of all blood.

The engine turned and purred steadily. Duo directed the Isuzu back out onto the freeway and drove lifelessly, looking blankly into the dashed white lines; a sandwich flopped out of his mouth, half-eaten.

Heero retired to the cot with his notebook with the ruse that he needed to be isolated to write and get his thoughts clear. The fact was nothing would get his head completely sorted out. As he had picked the red notebook up, Duo had looked at him and looked fearful for a second, guessing at what would be immortalized in ink after the bounty hunter incident. Neither wanted to talk about it and said nothing, allowing Heero to crawl back into the sleeping cabin safely for the time being.

He knew he'd have to confront Duo about it sometime.

But could he? Could he look into those bewitching violet eyes, fight off the charms of the feline grins, honest or otherwise, and still find the courage to confront him? And what would he really confront him about? But most of all, why was it so hard to talk to him anymore without fear of being caught or doing irreparable damage to an already fragile alliance?

The traveler gave up on writing (it was impossible when his brain was bickering with itself) and laid the red notebook against his chest, lying on his back, and contemplated the lives of bohemians until the steady jolting lulled him to sleep a restless sleep.

* * *

Author's Note: Short, I know. I'm addressing that, so don't get upset. Just a little interlude of calm before we start up with the intrigue and action and all that good homegrown stuff. I'm telling you now, we're halfway through. Thanks for all the _uber_-supportive reviews from everyone—This is going to be cliché, but they're just too good to be true. Honestly, I'm overwhelmed with all much I've heard, so don't worry if you're fretting over it ending too soon. There's still a way to go. Thank you, and ciao. 


	15. Part 15 FERAL ANIMALS

Part 15 FERAL ANIMALS

Duo pressed the end of his emptied aluminum pop can to his forehead and playfully bit his tongue and crushed it easily. Then he smiled and tossed it over his shoulder without out bothering to look or even note the sound of the metal clanking as it fell into the trashcan. Overhead, it was a perfectly sunny day. Early morning clouds threatening of miserable driving weather had lost interest and drifted away by mid-afternoon, and that was one thing Duo was grateful for. Now he sat on the flat metal roof of the Isuzu's cabin, legs crossed, hat tilted down to shield his eyes from the sun, staples long removed and blood and scabs long healed, and junkfood scattered in front of him. He chewed on some circus peanuts while watching all the activity in front of him.

They were roughly a day's drive from Cinq and too close to the deadline for comfort. If Duo pulled another all-nighter, they'd be fine. The bounty hunter incident had taken more time to recover from than expected, but the bohemian healed very quickly. And now, they'd stopped once again for a rest. The long stretches in between smalltime gas stations and dingy parking lots (what Duo thought would be safest places to stop) were filled with wordless silences, not uncomfortable, but with lots of unanswered questions left hanging between he and the traveler. Duo had his radio to occupy him, and Heero had his notebook. Duo had stopped trying to peek at what he was writing, and only dully feared what it could be as he drove, Hüsker Du and The Who roaring in the background.

The aforementioned traveler was currently unhooking the gas pump from the tank and setting it back in its place with a resigned metal clack. As he dusted off his hands and began to walk around for the gas station and prepared to pay for their fuel, Duo's voice stopped him.

"Hey, wait," he said.

Heero turned his face up and squinted into the sun. "What is it?" A sudden black blur descended on him and instinctually the traveler lifted his hands to catch it. The item slid out of his palms but he pinned it against his chest and picked up the leather wallet that had been tossed to him. The tempting amount of green made him frown and squint up at the smirking bohemian again. At least, he thought, he was behaving a little more normally. If Duo really ever acted normally around him. Despite being lethal and beautiful, he knew that his smirk wasn't all truths.

"Fifty American greens. You can buy whatever you want—knock yourself out."

Standing still, the traveler suspiciously rubbed his thumb over the leather. "Isn't this your con money?"

"No," he said as he bent his elbows on his knees and cushioned his chin in-between cuffed palms, "it's all mine. Legally earned, believe it or not. But I think you'll be able to put it to good use. If you're gonna grab something to eat for me, I'll take anything with meat on it. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, though, my vegan traveler."

"No, I guess it'll be fine," Heero said slowly, suspicion gumming up the works of his brain. A baffled expression nearly peeked through, but he caught it and turned his head before the bohemian seemed to be able to notice. "Thanks," he added quietly. He kneaded the leather wallet into his back pocket as he turned and walked inside.

"Don't mention it," the bohemian commented casually to himself. But after the traveler left, there was a noticeable rift in his smile. He shifted away, glancing around the sunny city citizens, going about their lives with a pleasant chatter and gleam in their eyes. A mother towing two rambunctious, brightly dressed children in tow passed by and a tiny girl with long brown hair and a juice box clenched in one hand spotted him and smiled. Probably because she'd never seen a man sitting on top of a car eating his lunch. He waved at her and she giggled and returned it before her mother's urgent arm dragged her off. After that, he happily munched on another fluorescent orange circus peanut and lay down on the sun-warmed metal.

A few minutes later, Heero's hand gripped the edge and he hoisted himself up, one of those thick orange vegetable drinks clutched underarm and a little bundle of fluorescent yellow plastic bag as well. The bohemian seemingly hadn't heard him approach, sunning himself, and sat up in a half-start. Happily surprised to see the traveler, he patted the roof beside him as invitation. Kicking the assorted candy wrappers off to the side, he made room and Heero sat down beside him.

"What'd you get me?" Duo asked jokingly, knowing fully he didn't expect anything.

Heero set the glass bottle in his lap and handed him the yellow plastic bag declaring the name of the gas station in tacky black printing. The expression on the con man's face was slightly skeptical at the thought of receiving such a sweet gift of an empty plastic bag, but he soon realized that there was something wrapped up inside the bundle.

"Whoa, you actually got me something! You didn't have to, you know."

"It was your money," he replied flatly. "I didn't have a problem with buying something for you."

"I guess so. When the money's somebody else's, why not spend it, huh?" The bohemian's face turned genuinely happy for a brief second, something rare in their long stints of false pretenses, and he hurriedly tore into the plastic wrapping. "So, what is it? The suspense is killing me. Is Heero really being nice to me, or did he just buy me a trash bag?"

The traveler, always the taciturn one, simply looked down at his vegetable shake again before he could turn colors and unscrewed the lid. "It's just something I thought that you might need," he said, before taking a drink. "For both our sakes."

Duo pulled the item out of the plastic bag and displayed a crooked grin, looking down at the gift lying in his palm. A black-and-white lucky rabbit's foot with a little looped chain sat comfortably in his palm. "Thanks," he said with a laugh. "You probably just made my day."

"I picked out the right thing, I take it?"

The bohemian jauntily grinned and with one finger pulled a gold chain from underneath his collar, unlatching the metal links connected to the rabbit's foot and tying it on. Glittering beside it was a tiny gold crucifix. He patted it down and adjusted his rumpled collar, still smiling brightly. "As long as it's good luck, I have no problem with it. It's sweet, really." he said. With one final admiring glance, Duo tucked the small Dalmatian-spotted rabbit's foot under his shirt.

Heero took a final drink from the vegetable shake, closed the half-emptied bottle, and set it on the roof beside him. The white metal of the Isuzu was searing in the midday sunshine, soon to turn his beverage lukewarm and fairly disgusting. Meanwhile, after the bohemian had finally stopped rubbing at the hidden necklace, he had began ravaging through the other snacks scattered around him. Not to interrupt his meal, Heero waited for a moment when there wasn't candy stuffed into Duo's jaws, and kept on waiting. He should have expected it, it being vaguely lunchtime, and eventually, Duo noticed and stopped eating.

"Hey, something up?"

Heero shook his head. "No, not really. It's nothing. How much further to Cinq is it, anyway?"

"Nothing too bad. That is, if you can still stand me for another day of driving," he joked, chuckling through a chocolate lollipop.

"We only have twenty-four hours left? We're still ahead of schedule after all of the things that happened? It doesn't seem right to me. We should have a least a deficit to make up, or something."

"I snuck in a few more hours when you were ever so gracefully sawing logs." _After I saw how innocent and helpless you looked, put a blanket over you and had to kiss you a little on the mouth, that is_, was the unheard afterthought. "Less than that, if you drive. You seem to be much better at it than I am, for whatever reason. But hell, I don't care," the bohemian concluded happily, smiling in his direction past a candy stick. There had been no warning for his sudden good mood, but whatever it was, the traveler was happy to see it. Unfortunately, that didn't mean he wasn't the same devious criminal.

Heero narrowed his eyes slightly, frowning to himself. "The only reason I make better time is because I don't stir up trouble wherever I go. I try to keep myself out of it, at least, instead of seeking it out."

"You keep out of trouble by cavorting with a wanted con man across the country, helping me steal and run from police? That's the strangest way of staying out of hot water that I've ever heard of, and trust me, I've heard of quiet a few. You're practically jumping in to it! I don't understand you sometimes, the way you insist on being so straight-laced, but still, you're here, aren't you? And I'm still a wanted criminal, aren't I? If I didn't know better, I might call you a hypocrite, but I can tell that you're not like that."

"Yeah," Heero agreed quietly, staring contemplatively at the sun-baked metal roof, as if his eyes bore through it. Suddenly, he realized that whatever delicacies and cracking glass existed in their relationship, born of criminal behavior, secrecy, and fear, didn't matter right then. Duo had smiled at him sincerely and didn't bear any new secrets to hide from him, so it was a good day. That made a sliver of his own smile creep out, like it had just slithered out from a war-battered bunker into daylight.

The bohemian caught that, with those cunning eyes of his, and returned it thrice-fold. "Alright, I think you're a little more rebellious than you allow yourself to be. I wouldn't be surprised if we had put coal in your ass at the beginning of this trip and out came a diamond two days later. But you're not the same man from the carnival. I believe you've changed a lot since then. You're—dare I venture as your fortune teller—less distant."

"That's vague. Is it a change for the better?" Heero asked skeptically, trying not to smile as he said it.

With a nod, the con man grinned and jauntily tipped up the rim of his black baseball hat. "How could opening up horizons be bad, Heero?"

* * *

Strolling across the gleaming tiles, his bare feet silent as they scuffed playfully against the floor, Duo toured the miniature souvenir aisle as casually as could be. Abandoning the traveler in the Isuzu and leaving him to his pen and notebook, he'd wandered back inside after sufficiently scrapping all the candy he'd bought before and licked it all clean. Spoons engraved with the awkward name of the town glittered at him, dashboard Chihuahuas with disjointed heads rested in plastic boxes, and dozens of sarcastic and witty keychains hung from metal hooks. The bohemian grinned to himself, strolling along. Distant chatter of a tiny television stationed behind the counter caught his ear, besides a rather disinterested clerk who drummed his fingers absently on the cash register keys and glanced over at the colorful screen. Much like the other small time gas stations he had visited upon the unorthodox trip, he was mostly alone in his slow journey through the aisles, and that pleased him.

Eventually, the bohemian plucked a pair of black flip-flops and happily dropped them on the counter. His singular pair of shoes had been reduced to ashes only a few nights before. That thought plagued his mind with the images of the traveler panting in the white glaring headlights, the telltale trails of blood that flew from the holes in the bounty hunter heads, and the distinct viciousness of the bigot snarling in his face. His flawless smile flashed at the apathetic teenaged clerk, beyond the violence in his thoughts.

Duo rummaged through his pocket and whipped out a crumpled five-dollar bill. The lanky cashier returned a palm-full of change and the bohemian thanked him graciously. Disinterested eyes shifted toward the television again, like dull sets of magnets, and Duo went about tearing off all the plastic ties on his new pair of shoes. Gnashing his teeth around the stubborn plastic looped around both shoes once and it snapped harmlessly and Duo spat it out. Humming happily to himself, the con man leaned against the brick wall surrounding the door and slipped them on in order to test them out.

Meanwhile, the air hissed intermittently with static as the stations flickered at the will of the clerk's finger pressed against the buttons. Eventually, it settled upon a newscast and the icy-looking woman in her precise grooming and conservative pale makeup. Duo paused, the residual grin of nothing lingering on his face, even as he dreadfully recognized the colorful computerized graphic glowing in the corner, the sullen face framed in the corner.

"Tonight, we expand upon a topic of growing concern," the dark-haired woman announced reservedly. "The world of politics has been in a recent uproar upon breaking news concerning the kidnapping of the Peacecraft's son."

Duo's smile went dead.

"We've covered this story for the last week. As we've told you before, the son of the Peacecraft family, a major force in American and International politics, was reported missing at the beginning of the Peace Commemoration Holidays after reportedly storming out of his apartment and disappearing into a nearby carnival ground. The daughter of the Peacecraft family, Relena Peacecraft, was forcefully locked inside' and prevented from stopping the young man. However, this incident is no longer being considered as a missing persons case by police, but as a kidnapping in light of new evidence."

The bohemian stared dully as the colors shifted and a pair semi-hazy photograph was displayed, one of his own furtive face glancing over his shoulder, and one of the traveler's beautiful Asian face, frowning cutely in the unwanted presence of a school camera.

"From security cameras in a small truck stop outside of May City, twenty-five-year-old Heero Yuy was seen in the company of the notorious con man Duo Maxwell, whom police have been hunting for months. The tapes and further information are yet to be released on whether he is still speculated to be alive or being held as a powerful political hostage against the Sen. Peacecraft. But the family insists that they will stay strong no matter what the situation and plan not to wield to any sort of ransom that may be posted. Concerning the reported kidnapper, Duo Maxwell's current bounty has again risen and is now set at $1,000,000, to be paid upon capture or any information leading to his arrest, as indicated by the Peacecraft family."

Duo quietly slipped on his shoes and lowered the rim of his baseball cap, unobtrusively pushing the glass door open and gliding out like shadow.

"Our hotlines are open to any information that you may have and we urge all our viewers to be cautious. Because besides being a criminal, the authorities have confirmed the long-standing suspicions that Maxwell is also a—"

Purple bars of mute glowed suddenly below the hotline number on the screen, and the clerk lifted his finger from the mute button to snatch up the phone lying hidden beside the register. His disinterested eyes now glittered, thinking of what he could buy to win over his old girlfriend because of the money he was gonna make from this particular phone call.

* * *

For Oliversgurl, the official definition of a bohemian goes something like this :

**bo·he·mi·an** (b-hm-n)_ n._

1. A person with artistic or literary interests who disregards conventional standards of behavior.

2. A Gypsy; an itinerant person; a vagabond.

At first, the word was used as the Gyspy because it described Duo's getup, but it slowly became more of of the first definition to describe Duo's outlook or behavior. He may not have an unconventional literary or artistic interest, but just a unconventional grasp on things called 'rules.' After a while I just got infatuated with the word and it stuck. So. There you have it. The definition of bohemian. (I just put the pronunciation thing in there because it looks cool)


	16. Part 16 THE FLEETING LIVES AND UNSAID TR...

Part 16 THE FLEETING LIVES AND UNSAID TRUTHS

The traveler glimpsed the slim black shadow momentarily as it exited the brightly lit gas station and smiled secretly to himself as he averted his eyes back down to the latest page he'd scribbled out. Assuming he simply returned to the parked Isuzu, as it was close time to begin traveling again, Heero didn't pay attention to the fact that Duo did not turn toward the side parking lot but slipped straight across in the dimming sunlight. A soupy pink and gray sky gradually swallowed the sun as it slowly fell toward the horizon and dipped behind the silhouette of a wooded Central Park planted across the street. Evening seeped in, darkening the cabin so that Heero instinctually reached to flick on a light and sat up in his seat. Had he not done so, he would have missed the black-clad bohemian trekking past the parking lot with a passion.

For an instant, the sheer criminal grace in the image of watching Duo slink silently off, his head lowered furtively, hands pocketed, and the tresses of chestnut hair shining beneath his anonymous black baseball cap, hypnotized him. Then a cold prick of fear bit into his stomach and he dreadfully knew something was wrong. The traveler bolted up and threw open the nearest door, tossing his thick red notebook to the floor. Chilled air tossed his hair about as he clenched the door and leaned out.

"Duo?" He called out, nervous and curious in the worse aspect. "Duo? Where are you going?"

It sent a stake through Heero's chest and fear slithering down his spine as the bohemian wordlessly bowed his head further and avoided even acknowledging his voice, fists balled in the pockets of his jacket.

"Hey, Duo!"

Speeding up, the bohemian loped in a furtive blur across the lanes of intermittent traffic, dodging between the glowing lights. Meanwhile, that fear was sprouting in the traveler's chest as he leapt to the pavement and slammed the door, growling a low chain of curses beneath his breath. The slim figure ahead of him melted into the trees along a curving concrete path, disappearing so that he had a hard time believing that he'd been there in the first place.

The sky was rotting into a smug violet overhead as Heero dashed across the open lanes of the road and followed instinctually, like a clinging pup losing sight of its alphas. And he thought of the strange consequences if he did lose his strange pack-mate, the lethal-eyed criminal with a loving smile. He did, and regretted it, because it terrified him in a way.

He entered the small park, traveling down the same twisting, half-worn sidewalk that led through the passive and generally green foliage as the leaves turned dark and were hung in shadow. Pushing stray branches aside with the back of his hand as he cut the corner of a curve, Heero tried to catch his anxious breath as his eyes fell upon the strangely comical and poignant image of one Duo Maxwell sitting on the wooden park bench beside the winding concrete path, with the sides of his head in his hands and his elbows resting on his thighs. He seemed not to notice the small flock of tame pigeons that had collected and massed at his feet, bobbing and strutting about waiting for the customary bread crumbs they had been coddled with by those wandering through the park. They cooed and turned their heads in birdbrain confusion with their glassy dead yellow eyes blinking at him. The birds scattered quickly as Heero walked over and tentatively sat down beside him.

Between catching his breath, Heero asked, "What happened, Duo?"

The bohemian frowned, staring down. "Nothing. Can't a guy go for a walk these days without be suspected of something, Yuy?" The pure lifelessness in his tone and the distant address by his last name told him enough to know the truth beyond the defensive snaps and sarcasm.

"Yes, but I know that you don't have that kind of time and wouldn't do so without at least trying to drag me along with you."

"I'm not completely obsessed with you. I can spend some time apart from you," Duo snapped in response. It was painfully obvious that something was drastically wrong and the lethalness in his expressions had returned, like a dripping hypodermic needle filled with slow poison. That predatory glare. "It's definitely not that way. I'm keeping you in my company for the good graces in my heart, otherwise you would have been left behind long ago, traveler." Something cold dropped into Heero's stomach. He only thought of a ruptured doe carcass lying discarded at the side of the road, and how easily it would be in Duo's power to render him similar. "It's not like everything I do revolves around you, Yuy. Jesus, you need to get off your high horse if that's what you think I'm like. Arrogant much?"

This reply was filled with much more aggression than he'd ever seen directed toward himself, and in the bohemian's stare, he lost what little confidence he had left. Again, as Duo shifted his head away to frown at the milling pigeons, a glimpse of fluorescence blinked in his eyes, turning them dull silver for an instant. That didn't seem right at all to him, the traveler thought vaguely. But the thought was cut off by—

"And stop staring at me like that. Hasn't anyone told you that it's rude?" Duo growled at Heero, still looking down at the flock of birds.

The traveler frowned. "Duo. Tell me what happened."

When the bohemian ignored him, angrily cradling his cheek in his hand so that he might accidentally break his jaw if his temper were to suddenly flare, Heero spoke again and knew that whatever the results of this estranged conversation may be, they definitely weren't going to be good.

"I know something's wrong, Duo—"

Angry eyes turned on him again, over a snarl. "Stop fucking calling me that! Stop saying it all the time, you're driving me nuts! Do I really look like I need any more shit to deal with, Yuy?" Duo pounded his fists on his thighs and ground his fingers into his palms. Heero noticed how sharp and deadly his teeth looked now that his bohemian smile was replaced with fury.

"That's your name, Duo," Heero replied, refusing to let his sudden fear take hold.

He bolted up into a standing position, almost pouncing, on his tiptoes, and yelled down at the traveler. "You don't even know me! What the hell are you doing!? You don't even know a fucking _thing_ about me!"

"Of course I—" Heero's voice cut out, realizing with a certain amount of dread that aside from his criminal record, he actually knew next to jack upon the actual fabric of Duo's personality aside from what he could pick up through false smiles. Realizing that the growling bohemian over him was completely right. Realizing that the bohemian had seduced him without revealing a single personal fact so easily that it seemed effortless. That it was frightening.

"Yeah, what? What the hell do you know about anything? What do you think you can possibly understand about me, kid?" Those bohemian eyes fumed at him without signs of relent. Either something had gone seriously awry, or he'd been dead wrong about their friendship, ever since he'd defied the criminal and opened that car door on those carnival grounds.

Angry hands clenched the wooden bench inches beside Heero's head and the snarl intensified as Duo leaned down. "Do you believe that just because I dragged you along means anything? A few cuts and bruises don't make you my equal—fuck, you know nothing. You're not like me. Compared to me you're just some milk-toothed runt, so leave me the hell alone!" he snapped in Heero's face.

The stunned and growing expression of badly suppressed dejection on the traveler's face only spurred him on. "And I never asked you to come with me anyway!"

Wood splintered, and to mild shock, Heero turned to see that Duo's fingers had actually torn into the back of the bench and cracked the top board. Without realizing it, because he glanced over only moments after the traveler and the anger drained a little. He ripped his hand away and pawed away the slivers of wood, holding it with the opposite hand by the wrist. Duo stood back and seemed to stare angrily at his hand, as if it had been the one pushing it too far. After a moment of regret, that same bitterness overtook his features.

He growled lowly at his hand, though his words still struck at Heero. "I didn't ask to you come, so don't try to boss me around or think you can understand a fraction of where I'm coming from. Because you can't."

Still sitting, Heero lowered a skeptical eyebrow. "If you're so convinced that I'm so naïve, then why are you allowing me to write about you? I obviously _can't understand'_ anything about you."

Violet eyes pounced on him, glaring in a fashion that put his own grimaces down effortlessly. "Because I pitied you back there for a second, and now I'm beginning to regret it."

"I don't believe you."

Duo smirked, while still retaining the hate in his eyes. "Fine by me. You've deluded yourself before, so do it again. I don't care."

Heero stood up from the bench and walked up to the criminal with an equally stubborn stare as the angry one he received, remaining but less than a foot from Duo's twisted-up face. Stumbling for the right words, he hesitated once before his face stoned over. "Don't lie to me, Duo. Something happened, and I can tell that you're trying to push me away from something," he said matter-of-factly.

The bohemian inched away slightly, putting just enough distance between him and the traveler—who was unusually pretty for being such a levelheaded, indifferent stubborn ass—to regain his focus. "Yeah, right. If you really knew anything about me, you'd know I never fucking lie. And I can tell you're disillusioned beyond repair, sick little man."

Heero's lips pursed cheerlessly. "Five minutes ago you were happyl, you didn't have a care. What happened to that?"

"Nothing," Duo growled.

The traveler tilted his head ever so slightly. Chiding with the smallest move of his head and prying understandingly all at the same time. That was what chewed at Duo, deepening his own fear and urging him to cover it with anger.

His face didn't change as he said, seemingly reassured by Duo's outbursts instead of spooked away by them, "My parents died, Duo. I know you probably think that I've had nothing but sunny days and easy nights, but I haven't. After they died, I was completely alone until I was taken in by another family. And after that, I ruined the relationship with the only friend I've ever had just so that I could speak with you again. I watched you kill men to defend me, and I saw the worst of humanity who found no remorse in trying to kill you. I'm not as innocent or ignorant as you thought I was."

"So what? Moot point. Everybody outlives their parents," Duo growled lifelessly.

"You told that bounty hunter that your mother died for you. What about her?"

"I didn't lie! I said I never fucking lie!" Duo nearly screamed back.

Heero kept his mouth shut for a moment, realizing just how loud the bohemian had been.

"I never fucking lie like them, those disgusting bastards—never," Duo muttered back dangerously, this time his eyes sparking as they shot a withering look at the foliage beyond the splintered bench. "But that's just another thing you wouldn't understand about me."

Heero's tense face frowned. "I only wanted to know what went wrong." It almost looked like he was hurt to say what he did next. "Pretend that you trust me, and just tell me."

Finally, Duo managed to pull himself from a defensive rage that only bucked against the fear he had when he looked at the traveler and realized he was putting him in more and more danger by every second that he was near him, tainting his life. The spite momentarily left his eyes and they were blank. Still clutching his elbows with each arm like his emotional safeguarding, he looked over at Heero. After what seemed like the strangest, slowest moment, Duo asked blankly, "Are you related to the Peacecrafts, Heero?"

He frowned in rely and was on the verge of asking why Duo was even asking him that when a tiny flash of light caught his attention and he turned his head. It was only for a split-second that he saw the man lifting the barrel of his gun his accomplice in a gas station uniform at the oblivious bohemian because he lunged and snatched black jacket in fistfuls, shoving the criminal down with all his mindless strength.

The instant the first gunshot when off, Duo became very much aware of the bounty hunter growling at him, discarding the empty shell and quickly reloading, teeth flashing as he bit in concentration. Profanity flew underneath the hunter's breath he fumbled the gun for a split-second, recovering from the recoil. Heero vaguely registered the warmth of the bohemian disappearing and impatient hands dragging him to his feet with no more effort than extracting a leaf from the ground. At that time, the adrenaline had been throbbing in his veins and things blurred as they sped up. Things were moving impossibly fast as Duo began to stir in response to the bullet.

"Goddamnit, move!" Duo half-snapped at him, standing somewhere vaguely behind him, as he latched his hand forcefully around his wrist, and began to sprint with traveler in toe. Heero remained stunned for an instant before the very lethal image of one grungy civilian turned "bounty hunter" in house slippers and leveling his gun jolted him into reality and he was sprinting barely a stride behind the con man.

"How the hell do these people know who you are?" Heero asked as he ran.

Duo leapt over the curb with an immensely long stride and took it effortlessly. "I bet they were watching the news in the station, and just guess whose face has been plastered all over the screen for the last week! Just guess!"

"Damn it," Heero hissed to himself.

Another angry, useless shot rocked the air, striking some unfortunate lilac bush as the two dashed across the motoring lanes of traffic, barely dodging the glaring white headlights. Duo seemed to glide effortlessly on his long, athletic legs and stop just as easily as he jerked to an abrupt halt to push Heero to the pavement in similar fashion. Another bullet hell-bent on chewing a hole between bohemian eyes whirred harmlessly by and shattered the glass of the front gas station window. The criminal slunk low to the ground, frowned as he shot an animalistic glance toward the unkempt bounty hunter, then clutched Heero's collar as he sprang to his feet again.

The traveler leapt up with him, his sights set on the object of their destination for relative safety, their white Isuzu sitting obliviously in the side lot as if napping with all the gunfire going on. Speaking of gunfire, Duo swore loud and viciously as he spotted another barrel sighted on them from beside the gas station and roaring as it fired. He'd have to get whoever passed that handgun law and made it legal for such bozos to lay their hands on weapons like that, but that would have to come later.

Luckily, neither bounty hunter was too accurate of a shot and the bohemian and the traveler reached the side of their truck. Just as Duo's distrusting eyes shifted away from the distant bushes and he surged forward for the latch, a bullet angrily sheered the paint from the metal door, mere inches above his knuckles. The bohemian withdrew and snapped out a low, "Fuck!" Another volley from separate guns followed, chasing him as he ducked to the side of the Isuzu and panted viciously beside the traveler.

"Now what?" Heero muttered in a condemned tone.

The con man swallowed dryly and shifted his severe expression over to the traveler, also half out-of-breath. He hissed defiantly, "We get the hell out of here, that's what. No man in his pajamas is going to take down Duo Maxwell—at least not today, he's not!"

With that, he slithered easily beneath the Isuzu and disappeared from sight. A skeptical confusion muddled Heero's confidence to follow, but after a few seconds of standing there, a hand reached back out from under the truck and yanked hard on his pant leg. He found himself ducking to the pavement and crawling after. Voices roared angrily, losing track of their sitting ducks, and bullets dented bluntly as they struck the sides of the white Isuzu. Without the slightest display of effort, Duo slithered onto his back and lifted his right leg, a severe scowl of concentration marring his face as his black flip-flop wove between all the essential lines and mechanical parts and found an empty space of metal. And then he punched his foot through it like it was a paper screen.

Heero stopped thinking for an instant, watching the bohemian sigh jadedly and curl back the edges of the cleanly-severed hole like heated butter in his palm. Duo then rested on his haunches, creating a large enough hole to crawl through by sheering back entire slabs of metal, and slunk into the relative safety of the cramped sleeper compartment, inside the cabin of the Isuzu. Outside, frustrated bullets whirred and bit holes into white metal panels as each bounty hunter crept precariously closer to the criminal and his traveler. Duo, still growling to himself, clamored onto the sleeping cot through the narrow space between the frame of the cot itself and the back of the front seat. He momentarily peered over it and through the windshield, which would prove dangerously fragile if any bullets discovered them and came their way. Heero was only seconds behind him, despite the strange escape route.

"Glad you made it," Duo said in strained humor as Heero's head and shoulders crawled through the jagged hole, invoking the ridiculous thought of a rabbit peering out of his home. For a moment, the traveler turned confused but levelheaded eyes on him in silent questioning, and he answered it with, "Hurry it up! Man, don't just sit there," and crawled to the floor again once Heero was sitting on the cot as well. The bohemian bent over the busted hole and easily peeled the metal back into a semblance of what it'd been before, like molding putty in talented hands. The steel groaned metallically, complaining as Duo threw it into shape.

Heero still panted silently, watching as if a ghost were knelt in Duo's place. It wasn't right. It was almost super-human. _In_human.

Without a word about it, the criminal slithered a final time up onto the cot, being especially conscious if his head rose above the barrier of the front seat that shielded them from bounty hunter sights. He crowded beside the Japanese man on the tiny bed and promptly emptied his pocket, presenting him with a black semi-automatic. When he didn't move to take it, his hand was snatched up and it was forced into his palm. Intense eyes sighted him, staring out from underneath a low brim. "Listen now, Heero," he said, still not removing his hand, "I need you to—"

A row of bullets buckled at the bumper, ricocheting loudly. Aiming originally for the tires, the bounty hunter outside scratched his head and began to reload. Duo flinched at the sudden sound so that he nearly found his face pressed into Heero's collarbone. Eventually, he opened his squinted eyes and found his highly sensitive ears ringing and his inner alarm ringing. It would be a matter of time, at this rate, before the rest of the rednecks pursuing them would figure to disable the car they had disappeared into, preventing them from escape and ruining what Duo had worked up to for his entire miserable life.

The bohemian frowned and shoved Heero's hand away after securing a gun in it. "Just shoot, okay? Just get the lead out and don't whine to me that you don't want to kill them—if you haven't noticed, I don't think they care if they accidentally kill _us_."

"Duo—"

"You said yourself that you weren't as innocent as I thought. So prove me wrong, huh?"

Heero suspiciously paused, watching the con man, then nodded in grim understanding.

Duo then lunged into the front seat and unrolled like pure motion to be in the driver's seat, seeking the keys left idle in the ignition, the gear labeled drive, and the acceleration pedal simultaneously. A moment later, the Japanese man was beside him in the passenger seat. He rolled down the window just wide enough to sneak a barrel through and hesitated only once before firing.

He thought of only Duo and that he was doing this to protect him as the first bullet bit into shoulder flesh and the nearest bounty hunter and his rifle clattered to the ground. At the same time, the Isuzu roared into life under the insistent boot of the bohemian and the tires squealed as they gained purchased and began to haul ass. The bohemian threw the steering wheel to a sharp right, headed for the saving grace and open space to run of the highway with a vengeance. Heero fired again and another fell, this time the bullet shaving off the left section of his chest. Another followed that, as he dashed down the sidewalk and toward the road, when Heero aimed and took a grim look, realizing the man would never use the shreds of tendons and flesh that were his hand ever again.

And after that, beautiful, merciful highway spread out before them. The engine screamed as Duo punched it in an empty lane of liberty and they pulled far away from the wreckage and imminent chaos they'd left behind, onto a possibly worse, darker place—all in one very tight silence.

* * *

Alright, I know this has nothing to do with this story, but I wanted to apologize about the delay on the My Shini, My Hamburger update. But I do have a very good excuse.... HOMECOMING, BITCHES! Seniors suck! Hahahah! Who's got you running for your money, geezers?! Huh, say it, assholes! Yeah, SOPHOMORES, that's who!!

I apologize for my... um, apology. This week has been one hell of a week. I really don't have any school spirit, I really could care less, but I want so, so, so, so badly to put the class of 2005 in their place it's like I've got yellow-colored blinders on, and yellow ribbons and pigtails and shirts and socks and pants and faces and lipstick... If you haven't guessed, yellow is my class color. We're currently only three points THREE F-ING POINTS behind the Seniors and my window painting, cheering, and football playing is going to put them down! Hah hah! I'm only really competitive towards the Seniors, and there's an even BETTER reason behind that. I'd love to go deep into the details... so I will! Next time. For now, wish me luck! So I don't get beaten to death tomorrow reaching for the glory of the spirit stick and grounding the upperclassment INTO THE DIRT! Goes off to paint war paints on her face and scream in the mirror to pump up. Oh, yeah. Readers ROCK!


	17. Part 17 STAR ME KITTEN

Part 17 STAR ME KITTEN

Not a word. Nothing had passed between them but occasional glances, absolutely nothing. No anxious, false smile and a sarcastic wit or joke on Duo's behalf and no silent glare or half-grunted observation on his criminal's behavior from Heero. Silence ruled devastatingly. Even the radio remained deathly quiet and the bohemian dully stared toward the blurring yellow lines.

After escaping, the traveler had sighed and pressed the dull metallic chill of the pistol to his forehead, leaning, silently consumed, against the window as his head roared with a dull ache. Distant rumbles of engines passively traveling beside them sifted through the glass and growled along with the traveler's muddled thoughts. Thought of world-eating eyes and words exchanged what seemed so long ago slowly ground at his waking consciousness, his face grimacing as it thought. The notebook, which held all those estranged and intrigued thoughts on the time spent with the bohemian, lay idle on the no-man's ground that was between them, between the driver and passenger side.

He seemingly had forgotten it was there and all that he hadn't written down now milled behind his eyes instead. Heero limply folded his arms, cradling the pistol against his stomach without really noticing it was there. He didn't notice anything, staring out the window, not even the single, carefully placed look he received from Duo. It was the first in the painful stretch of a few hours, and brief; he turned his head away again, his expression uncertain. They remained that way, all wrapped up in their thoughts, completely separated in a space of three and a half-feet, until night began to creep toward them again.

The microscopic city lights inched away behind them, being swallowed by night. A long, lonely stretch of forest and meadow now separated them from the city of Cinq and not just from each other. Duo seemed to inexplicably wake from a dream state of driving in absolute silence and pulled to the side of an empty road. He shifted it to park and the engine quieted a second later. His eyes adjusted from staring out at the light of the headlight as he looked over at the traveler, who where he'd been sleeping against the window for the last few hours.

His mouth was half-opened as his cheek was pressed against the glass—a place he normally would never find sleep. All the stressed lines bowled beneath his eyes had loosened and shifted to a state of semi-peace, though the lines in his brow still remained. Duo saw it perfectly, with reflective retinas that drunk in the moonlight, and the empty expression filled a little with something. He watched the traveler sleep in innocence and in grief all at the same time, and if anyone else had been awake, they would have seen him smile wearily. The bohemian reached over and took the pistol from the traveler's limp hands and tucked it away in his own pocket, knowing that he never should have held it in the first place.

Heero mumbled in his sleep as his fingers relaxed around nothing, shifted, and curled his shoulder tighter up against the window. He was completely oblivious to the softened look that he received, as Duo moved toward the traveler.

And the moon was a full, glowing orange globe hovering just over the horizon.

---

Sometime creeping toward the devil's hour, the traveler registered the action of waking from restless and faded dreams of thieves and hunters and sitting up on the cramped cot. Beside him, the distant scent of cigarette smoke clung to the bohemian's luggage, pressed against the wall in an indiscriminate pile with his own. After a second of adjusting his eyes to the large amount of moonlight pouring in, his brain groggily wondered how he had ended up in the sleeper compartment when he distinctly remembered staring out the window for hours until he saw no more. The discomfort in not knowing ached dully.

The discomfort in not knowing was painful, knowing that it was impossible break that curse. Heero remembered the bitterness and jaded anger that Duo had always had brewing somewhere in him, and it confirmed it without a doubt.

Duo had been hiding something from him from the beginning, and the hateful stares in the park only proved that he never was going to be allowed to know. They proved that Duo had never truly placed a solid trust in him, and for whatever reason, that struck him the most.

There was an impulse, after coming to the comfortless realization, to roll over and fall back asleep and relieve him of all the twisted thoughts and information coursing his brain, but he didn't. He shifted quietly so that he kneeled on the cot, rested his arms on the back of the seat, and soaked in the image of one Duo Maxwell sleeping with his back against the window, practically glowing in moonlight. The discomfort and ache in his chest choked him twice as hard.

The bohemian was laid out silently across the passenger's side, in his criminal black, and seemingly dead asleep. The jagged brown bangs he wore so messily long were disheveled beneath his perpetual black baseball cap and his face pale in contrast and beneath a sea of light from the full moon haunting overhead. A graveyard of a moon. Draped cautiously over him was a reserve cotton rag dubbed a blanket, covering him from heel to waist as he slept, his head on the armrest on the door and his lean body curled up against the back of the seat. It estranged Heero for an instant, the traveler severely distrusting it. It confused him, how such a lethal predator of a con man could seethe of such death and grievousness in daylight, and then could be so beautiful and simple when he slept. It twisted that discomfort in his chest viciously and the traveler settled onto his heels, disposed to watching silently.

Dusty white moonlight streamed through the entire cabin of the Isuzu, and Heero breathed sleepily, simply staring down at the bohemian who'd bewitched and damned him with his inhuman violet eyes and gold bracelets looped around his wrists. Now, his clipped, chestnut hair hung at his shoulders, and Heero mused what it must have looked like, draped down to his shoulder and braided. Strange but beautiful. Beneath the lowered rim of the black cap, Duo's face looked pale and lifeless, if not for the noiseless pattern of breathing of his chest swelling and falling. Heero had an instinct to remove the baseball cap, and leaned down silently to indulge it. It would only muss that exotic bohemian hair.

The traveler cautiously leaned forward until his stomach pressed tightly against the fabric of the seat, soundlessly reaching forward. He had no idea how greatly that one movement would shift his path in life into another direction.

Once a thief, always a thief. Once you learn to sleep with one eye open, that's the way it stays. When Heero came into any close vicinity, inhuman senses jolted the bohemian awake and dulled violet eyes flared at him in their unaware, half-seeing state.

Instinctually recoiling, Heero tried to escape whatever had spooked him in the con man's expression, but his fingers had already wrapped around the brim of the baseball cap and two things happened very quickly: the perpetual hat fell away and there was an abrupt grip around his wrist, sending pain in lines up his forearm. The bohemian looked terrified as the traveler half-winced, and then realized that the black baseball cap had fallen into his lap.

Duo cringed as the most dreadful thought crossed his mind and poisoned his face with a grimace. He looked horrified, and it only worsened when Heero sudden realized what was wrong with the beautiful image of Duo, shoulders defensively pressed against the window and moonlight streaming in. He realized then what had been trying to hide from him so fiercely.

He wasn't human—he was Neko.

Stationed on a head of bohemian hair that he'd never seen without a hat was a singular ear out of place, and it was completely covered with a fur shade darker than the chestnut hair currently down to his neck. It was as if it were cut off an innocent housetabby with scissors and sewn to Duo's humanoid head. Delicate white hairs crisscrossed inside, probably hyper sensitive. Large enough to just cup in the palm of his hand. Scuffs and fading souvenirs of fights nicked the outer rim, like one of some tomcat that would sneak out at night to fight. He still had his obligatory human ears on each side of his face, and the singular cat feature was doubly strange in comparison.

Aside from all the semi-scientific observations, it threw Heero's stomach into a violent and nervous loss of breath. He couldn't breath, watching the single feline ear, ruffled from remaining hiding beneath a baseball cap for so long, nervously twitch back and forth to every inane radiation of sound. A predator's ear. But still a tabbycat's ear. He realized he couldn't breath and vaguely registered gasping once for air. Duo's ear flickered and broadened toward him, over bright, frightened violet eyes, and still Heero was still fighting to get a decent breath. Finally, those immeasurably sad eyes shifted away and the feline ear pursed gently against his skull, giving Heero a little time to accept the shock that ran through him.

Duo wasn't human. He never _had_ been.

All the news reports—the reporters' eyes darkening slightly just before finishing the sentence proclaiming him to be a renegade Neko—the sinful, hateful slurs of the bounty hunters—the sharp teeth that had mangled the pen—the unusually sharp nails—the insanely speedy recovery—the glowing retinas in the dark of night—the hat—the accidental bite—the inhuman strength and agility—and the rejection in the gypsy tent, because he had found the ear without even knowing what he'd found. Blind to all of it. How the hell had he not pieced together? Not even suspected it?

Well, he knew that answer. He'd been too wrapped up in that deceiving, trademark con man grin, too worried about his wellbeing to take notice of anything else. Too absorbed in Duo to see him clearly.

He hadn't known anything about him, had he? Duo had been right to scream at him, to accuse him of knowing nothing.

Heero was dull with thoughts. The silent war of tension held between them as they stared at each other lasted for too long, until Duo frowned and finally looked away.

Defeated, the criminal sighed, but the tension was still simmering in the air. Snatching up the traitorous black cap, he angrily tossed it to the dashboard. And then, the pale, bone-white moonlight streaming on either side of his face, he glanced ever so cautiously to the traveler, as if he were trekking into mine-ridden territory. He considered the blank expression on Heero's face and his own darkened in a depressing grimace.

"Come here." The command seemed loud enough to shatter his skull in the intense silence, even though Duo was speaking under his breath.

Seemingly woken from a daze, the traveler flinched ever so slightly and hesitated. The fear in every tiny move he now made wasn't hard to pinpoint. After all, Duo could smell fear.

"Come here," Duo repeated wearily. "I'm not going to hurt you." The one-eared Neko leaned so his shoulder blades pressed against the cold glass and hands fell lifelessly to his lap. When once again, the traveler deliberated silently without movement, he added, "Heero, I'm not asking for the world."

And finally, the young Japanese man soothed the nervousness in his stomach enough to gain the composure to crawl into the front seat. He was still visibly shaken as he sat facing the bohemian, uncertainty in the highest written across his face. A tense distance separated them and the already solemn glow in Duo's eyes darkened.

"Come here." A bitter smile tainted his face and the feline ear flattened. "You don't have to sit there like some spooked hounddog. I swear, Heero, I'm not going to do anything to hurt you. I'm still the same person from before. Don't look at me like I'm some kind of beast. Please."

The traveler was still running through the stages of shock; he was still reviewing all the hints scattered throughout their journey and pondering how it was possible to miss something like that. "Duo—You..." was all he managed before the train of thought wasted away in his very mouth.

That semi-refusal seemed to pain the bohemian further as the corner of his lips sank abruptly in an awkward frown that somehow still looked like a grin. "Oh, come on. Haven't I told you that I never lie?"

The traveler paused and sat up, being stared in the face by one stunning one-eared Neko and a blazing white moon, pursing his lips ever so slightly as he finally relented. Heero warily crawled forward until the distance between them disappeared and he sat at Duo's feet, which were still bare and scathed red from the bounty hunters unfriendly ministrations. Once positioned, he once again momentarily forgot that he could breathe. The feline extremity twitched in hypersensitive hearing, flattening carefully against his skull as he continued to remain silent, just watching the blue-eyed traveler.

Heero licked his lips nervously and felt his shoulders tighten reflexively as he finally spoke.

"So you're a Neko."

There was soft, morbid laughter in the cabin. "You've only just noticed?"

The traveler sulked slightly, not pleased in the least to have the sensation of being laughed at, after being seduced and deceived simultaneously by one brash bohemian with gold hoop bracelets. "You never told me. Mostly I assume anything that speaks English and looks human would be human enough."

"You never asked," Duo responded with more humor than he expected. It was straining to cover all the falseness in his toothy grin. It barely disguised the sharp glint of his pronounced canine teeth, which now leapt out the traveler in light of the latest revelation. "Therefore, it wasn't lying to you."

Heero opened his mouth to respond but was beaten neatly to the punch.

"Or deceiving you. I never pretended to be anything but what I am—A con artist." The darkened gleam in the one-eared Neko's eyes reminded him that the casual conversational tone was fabricated out of necessity and discomfort. Heero's mind momentarily drifted to the diplomatic battle of a conversation in the gypsy tent, ruled by grins and verbal pageantry, and wondered how drastically it could have developed into this.

After the last comment, the tension hanging over them intensified now that they sat opposite each other, watching each other so guardedly that they might shatter if they spoke. Duo stared silently, almost twitching as his dark and solemn eyes locked onto the traveler's equally unwavering ones. Heero watched in return like stone, a stone with a morbid curiosity overcoming him. Without warning, he reached up toward the bohemian. More precisely, he reached for the ear, which swiveled quietly toward him.

It was exactly like petting the ear of a tabbycat, one that could be lying on a couch or languishing in the sun. The shade-darker chestnut fur covering it—_Duo's fur_, he told himself—was velvety to the touch. Startled, the one-eared Neko fawned backward sensitively. His large violet eyes soaked in the moonlight as they carefully watched the traveler's movements. They were reflective, deep purple, and thinning out to nearly diamond-tapered pupil. Cat-slits.

Heero realized that it was only in the dark did they shifted from an average round pupil; he realized just how inhuman Duo could be if one looked close enough, but that was if they were allowed close enough to get even a passing glance. Eventually, Duo recoiled from Heero's tentative petting—yes, he was petting him, in a weird sense—and the feline ear flattened. A hand even gently pushed his own away.

"Please, don't," Duo half-pleaded. "Just understand. I don't like my _ikkunnoi_ to be touched."

"_Ikkunnoi_?" Heero repeated awkwardly.

He resisted the urge to inwardly blush, forgetting once to translate a word he so closely associated with Neko culture and letting his tongue slip for the first time in years. It was a sign of weakness to him. "It's Hunter's Nekonese. The universal word for ear' in our old archaic language," the bohemian said shyly. "It's something all our tribes understand."

"Yeah. I remember hearing about it." Heero paused as he considered. "So, you really aren't human?"

The false sense of humor muddled the response. "Well, I'm actually something like one-fourth Neko. My mother was an Irish Catholic girl from Oklahoma, and my father—the best damn Warrior our tribe had ever seen—was half-human. Our tribe was kind of progressive, so there were many other mixed ones like me. But other than that one quarter, I'm just as human as you are. Sorry if I've disappointed you with the truth, but I guess I do show more catlike features than most half-breeds do." He gave a self-effacing laugh. "I did never fit in in that sense, either."

"Half-breed," Heero repeated flatly.

He really didn't like the term. It cheapened Duo's genuine charm. He frowned slightly in the glowing silver-gray light as he shifted his eyes carefully over the bohemian's face and across his skull, searching for the matching _ikkunnoi _and knowing full well that he and Duo both knew the question was coming. And the impatient silver in those reflective retinas only confirmed it. So, he asked.

"What happened to the other one?"

Those inhuman violet eyes shied off momentarily, staring silently at the upturned palms lying in his lap, and Heero feared that he wouldn't answer; he feared mostly that he'd asked an overly sensitive question and had intruded upon raw territory. But a bitter bohemian growl interrupted that thought. Glaring balefully past his hands balling into fists and straight into an embittered memory, Duo spoke abruptly.

"When they torched my family's home and slaughtered my littermates one by one, they plucked me from my mother's arms and kicked her into the dirt. That was before they decided to kill her anyway, just because they'd had a taste of killing helpless children and decided they wanted more. So, as I'm barely weaned and watching my mother lie there, they whip out their lighters"—Duo made the sinister gesture of a cigarette lighter being flicked open and being drawn across something agonizingly slow—"and burn me. All the fur on my arms and neck and shoulders. Burned my left ear bare before they"—the bohemian mimicked a small blade being snapped at the ready—"sawed it off with a pocket knife."

At that, the horrible presentation continued as the one-eared Neko gently curled away a lock of his hair to reveal the cauterized stump where it once had been. Still, the hateful look soured his face and he refused to look Heero in the eyes as he continued, baring a canine distastefully and bristling.

"And then they tossed me off to bleed to death somewhere. Like they really cared where. Of course they couldn't have just hurt _me_—No, they had to do over the whole tribe." The venom in his voice struck even harder as he snarled scornfully at some invisible memory. "In like manner."

Heero tried weakly to swallow the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Who?"

But Duo couldn't be distracted from his rage-filled trip down a Memory Lane that was less sweet than most, not even by the traveler's voice. "And if that wasn't _enough_ to fuck with me and my murdered family, six years later I go past a public news broadcast in the city and I see the soldiers who did that glorified for their service to Americans everywhere.' The anniversary of their extermination service, meaning they fucking celebrated it year after year! And that fucking warmonger was there to pat his precious murdering bigots on the back himself!"

There was an instantaneous connection in Heero's head. Memory consumed him as well, and he recalled a prim and proper dinner in the brightly-lit splendor of the Peacecraft estate, sitting opposite a sunny and warmly feminine Relena politely chewing her steamed vegetables. As he had dully gazed into the glittering of the glass chandelier, a smooth, benevolent voice announced the accolades of his soldier's brave work in a dangerous wilderness to the north. Their suppression of a rising rebellion of savages, he'd called it. Only later he smoothly slipped in the fact that it had been a dangerous _Neko_ tribe, as interviews flooded his administration. Yet something twisted violently in his stomach and refused to accept something so drastic.

"Duo, Senator Peacecraft is a well-respected pacifist. He carries on a century's tradition of non-violence. He wouldn't do something like that—it violates all that he believes in."

The embittered grimace turned toward him. Duo glared through him, through to the memory of his adversity. "Just wiping off some scum isn't in violation of any peacecode, Heero. We're not even human. Just animals who have forgotten their place."

Heero frowned again, being overwhelmed with the instantaneous urge to soothe this cancerous rage and erase the absolute feral snarl from Duo's face and those bright violet eyes. Wanted to drain the tension that arched his shoulders tightly, that balled his fists until they shook. He was compelled to grab Duo by the shoulders, shake him into some sense, and stop his destructive insanity, to see a genuine smile instead of the harsh humorous one. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, though he could only think of convincing Duo and—and what? Then what could he really do? All he had was the safe distance of his words. It wasn't normal to be here, it didn't seem right, and that was what held him back. That was what always was holding him back from loving a criminal, but making it all the more undeniable that it was all he wanted anymore. Why hadn't he noticed everything getting so damned complicated?

"Senator Peacecraft would not order to kill a village of peaceable Nekos," Heero said, still trying to keep his head from overwhelming itself.

A savage smirk crossed the one-eared Neko's face. "Maybe you're right. He just must have accidentally forgotten a few important facts as he declared to the world that my family and my kind were a cold-blooded threat to American lives."

"He would not," Heero defended in a half-touchy retort.

Duo cocked his head complacently. "And how would you know this?"

Dark Prussian eyes gleamed at the con man, half-ready to show their teeth. "Because Senator Peacecraft is my adoptive father and I know that he would not commit something so deliberate as that."

The sudden defensiveness nature of the traveler seemed to amuse the darkly smiling and beautiful criminal sitting before him, dusted in silver-white as he leered regretfully. "I know. And that's why I have to leave you behind, traveler."

"Duo—" the Japanese man protested sharply, keeping his voice under control as the lingering fear returned in full fury and began clouding his brain.

The bohemian's bitterly sad smile widened and his matching eyes narrowed "No matter if you believe me or not, I'm going to go to Cinq and settle the bad blood between me and the rest of this world, I'm gonna try and end all this mess the only way I can. There's nothing else to it. I'm sorry to be the one to take away your father, but he took everything from me. I know you don't understand, and I can't ask you to. All I can really ask is that you maybe forgive me for it someday." His smile faded, though his mouth still was drawn in the horrible charade of one. "It'll be last crime of the infamous Maxwell's Demon.'"

"Wait, Duo—!'

"No," Duo growled back. Sudden warmth squeezed Heero's hand hard, and he flinched, realizing it was the bohemian's hand, clenching tightly around his. "You listen to _me_. You promised me your word that you would stay out of my way when I asked you to, traveler. So I'm asking you now. Stay out of my way."

Heero opened his mouth, closed it, and knew defeat. It tossed him around and pawed him like a cat and its prey, and he was helplessly helpless. He had promised him—Heaven knew what Duo would do if he were ever betrayed again by breaking that promise. He couldn't—he wouldn't break a promise.

With that familiar lethal feline grace, he was confronted with a falsely smiling bohemian face mere inches from his, defying him despite all regrets burning in his eyes. Duo smirked once, showing his sharp canine tooth, and slid his arm along the curve of the traveler's shoulder until his hand stroked the back of his neck, sending electricity down his spine. As he looked at him, the false smirk was slowly replaced with a momentary rueful smile, considering something sadly before he leaned forward and kissed the traveler's lips. Heero's body froze up instinctively, but he felt terrified tremors running through his sides and shoulders. The bohemian lips were split but warm, gentle but tentative, not at all like the hungry seducers they had acted in the tent, pillaging and romancing him like a thief. Duo paused noiselessly, just lightly brushing his lips against Heero's, then let out a deep, despondent breath out onto the traveler's skin and pressed his hand tighter against the back of his head. He dared only to deepen the kiss only a little, out of desperation, knowing he wouldn't be able to stop himself if he went any further. He held him tightly, like it was his last indulgence. The traveler was too overwhelmed to respond at all, only close his eyes and try in vain to stop shaking. When Heero couldn't hold his breath any longer, a tiny moan escaped him and Duo retreated a little only to place another careful, gentle kiss on his lips to silence him.

It worked well, and he had sufficiently lost his voice when the bohemian pulled away.

In a disturbing quiet tone, Duo sighed and put his hand on the side of the traveler's face and said in finality, "And that'll be all he wrote."

For a second, Heero couldn't register why his vision suddenly bleared and spun drunkenly on top of the drumming heart in his chest. But when he felt the needle sting and bite as it exited his neck, as Duo drew his other hand away, he knew that he'd been drugged. The potent tranquilizer dug its claws into him almost instantly, and the last thing in his sight before his eyes went black was Duo grimacing at him unhappily with his slit pupils dilated and his outline glowing white in the glaring moonlight.

* * *

A.N.: Well, all that war paint didn't go to waste, but we didn't win. Yeah, dreams smashed, hopes crushed, whatever, but I'm still pretty fucking proud I pulled just as much weight as any of my classmates. We were only 6 or 7 points behind the Seniors and fully kicked their ass in the yelling contest and all that. To explain my dislike for the class of 2005, we have to go back to my freshmen homecoming on a very cold cloudy morning. At our school, drag seems to be becoming the new school spirit. Hell, next year there'll probably be a crossdressing day. Any man who's a man at least can wear a skirt and tank top for his school, or that's how it is lately, and I can't say I complain. But anway, homecoming week we have boy's volleyball in the gym the Friday of homecoming and girls football outside. Powderpuff Football. Don't let the name fool you. It's all violence with a point-system. I never miss it. I have to brag quickly that I scored four touchdowns this year thank you very much! But anyway, again off-track. Last year, as my friend Kayla and I were playing against the Juniors, this year's Seniors--we were the only ones making any real effort, I remember--I was just talking to my teammates and I guess it pissed off the senior in the defense line ahead of me. So, she lunges at me after "Hut!" and starts one of the most infamous brawls in Powerpuff history. I wasn't going to just fucking take it, so I started attacking her back. Eventually, we just started going after each other--the ball and game thing was all aside from the point. I get an elbow in the teeth, I get really fucking pissed and just start foaming at the mouth. But noooo, I wasn't allow to go after the bitch. Then she and her little clique gang up on me all together. That's why I hate Seniors. Namely because of four bitches who I will never be sad to see leave this spring. Okay, last play of the game, last one that happened really, anyway. Someone, maybe me, couldn't say, had the ball on the freshmen team. We had this v formation blitz thing going on but you know, not very good or anything, I'm more of a lacrosse/capture the flag girl than football, and the bitch and her best friend came at either side of it, basically trying to get at me, inside the group. This is great. Next thing I know I see them run smack into each other and buckle their heads together. The bitch and her best friend are sobbing and crying and lying n the ground and the entire Junior team thinks I did it. I did absolutely nothing, but I still got all the glory for it. Yes! Everyone, besides the teachers who were watching and actually saw what happend, thinks I sent them to hospital, which they did go. The bitch comes back with a golf-ball sized lump over her eye that lasts for a MONTH. It was fucking great. The juniors come up to me after the game, as I'm sitting at a lunch table and basically say, "I'm gonna get my boyfriend to kick your ass!" Priceless. Anyway, that's the story. I don't hate Seniors just cuz their Seniors. I hate bitches.


	18. Part 18 THE ABSENCE OF DREAMS

Part 18 THE ABSENCE OF DREAMS

He was looking. Pressing his hand to the glass, he was peering down and they were gazing up in magnificent hope. He smiled, pressing his palm tighter, when one ventured forward. Through the wood-shaving flooring the orange tabby cat kitten crept forward. It wove through the motley litter and he was certain that it was the one he wanted to adopt. Peering through the pet shop window, Heero was laughing quietly to himself. The glass was cold under his palm, the day warm and amiable, and the kitten's eyes large and green. So it came as a surprise to see the brute of a hand swing down and smash its tiny, fragile skull. As he watched the corpse fall to the ground and lie there without blood, his palm still pressed to the window, he heard a voice saying his name softly.

Duo's voice called out to him repeatedly.

"Heero—Heero!"

Slowly, the traveler opened his eyes from the dream to the cool hotel sheets wrapped over him. The seductive echo of the bohemian's voice revealed itself to be simply masked over another's voice—teasing him in his own head. The Japanese man gradually lifted himself from the bed and silently gazed around the rather sparsely furnished, blue-painted hotel room where he suddenly found himself.

"Heero, are you there? If you are, please open the door!"

He blinked twice at the alien sound of Relena's voice before it vaguely registered that she was the source of the noise. Her buttery, simple, and wholesome memory rushed back to him and the suffocation that she and his antiquated lifestyle had brought. No doubt she would have begun a frightened search for him upon news of his disappearance, Heero was sure as he slowly rose from the bed, and it would have intensified unimaginably after hearing news of him traveling with a wanted con man.

With a sigh, the traveler slipped out of the lonesome hotel bed and padded toward the door. The scent of bohemians and their smoking habits still lingered in the room, along the bare blue walls and spartan lack of furniture.

She would have been even more horrified to learn he hadn't just traveled with him, killed alongside him, and committed crimes with him.

"Heero! It's me, Relena. You don't have to be afraid, Heero, we've come to free you."

He might have fallen for him, too.

And with a disdainful, unhappy look marring his face, he slid the golden-colored lock firmly into place and went back to bed. As he pulled the comforter back, ready to collapse back into the simple mourning of sleep, Relena began to sound more and more panicked. She whispered something loudly to the person supposedly beside her, though Heero wouldn't be surprised if she had finally gone out of her mind and was plotting with the floral print on the wall. He pushed aside the blankets, fell back to the mattress and then lumped them back over him.

"Heero!" Relena cried out again, this time louder and even more persistently. "Don't be alarmed."

"About what...?" Heero grumbled dully into the pillow.

An authoritative male voice soon cut the high-pitched and concerned monotony of his old girlfriend's voice, slightly surprising him. He vaguely thought it was the manager. "We're coming in! Move, move, move!" he announced, seconds before opening the standard lock in the doorknob with a tiny _clink_.

Heero was unconcerned, until the heavy boot fell on the door at a perfect right angle and flung it violently against the wall. Golden bits of the sliding lock scattered to the floor like a lady's broken necklace of beads.

He was only slightly concerned when the bodyguards rushed in. He had seen them looming at large in Senator Peacecraft's wake and accompanying Relena and himself and holding back as they went about their Saturday activities, always watching over the muse of flipping through a magazine or sipping a drink. Flatly staring over the fabric of the pillow, on eye barely exposed, Heero snorted disdainfully. He didn't recognize any of these guards. The new guard, under Relena's order, he supposed.

The bulky suit-clad figures burst through the opened door like troops pouring onto that French sand on the sixth of June. Their beady, searching eyes first fell on him and quickly scattered about the room, weapons drawn. A table was inadvertently knocked over and the complimentary plastic-wrapped cups, coffee maker, and whiskey glasses crashed to the ground, spilling across the dark blue carpet. Heero watched listlessly, as if it really weren't there, and the loud commotion and mess of sudden human voices and guns being whipped at every insignificant corner were all something he'd dreamt up. As he watched, a pair of pale baby blue heels calmly stepped over the mess of shattered glass in what seemed like slow motion.

Heero pulled the covers over his head and groaned.

---

Relena tossed a heavy coat over his shoulders in the most feminine way and comforting manner that she could. As he was moved from the hotel room, he was still only dressed in what he'd been left in, a tank top beneath his old pressed white shirts and his slacks, and the day was significantly more chilled than expected for the summer. He was pulled from one of her assistant's arms as she pulled him to her side and they were both, in turn, swept up by the imaginable amount of police officers, plainclothes FBI officers, and the complete Peacecraft security network. It was comprised of everything from the publicist to the Peacecraft daughter's associate, the aging but reliable Pagan who followed with his old, lined face closely protective.

He could feel her eyes sliding up and down the side of his face, but he barely registered it. The array of blue uniforms crisscrossed with radios, badges and bulging with bulletproof vests paired with the formal and masculine suits of black, rushing in front and to the side and surging behind them. The light was brighter than usual—he assumed it was a side effect from being drugged. Sometimes he would feel his hair being brushed away from his face and comfort whispered to him, but it fell upon deaf ears.

The police and bodyguards swathed off the stairway with obnoxious yellow tape. They ruptured the room to glean it clean for any scraps of evidence and Heero and Relena were taken to the parking lot. He squinted in the glaring sunlight and his vision blurred, side effects rekindled beneath the sudden light. The dim figure of an ambulance with opened doors appeared before him and Relena's presence left him as strong arms hoisted him to the back and into the hands of others. The absence of the overprotective blonde was momentary; his old girlfriend and foster sister crawled inside as well.

He was being examined by a scruffy brunet medic when he fully regained his vision.

The golden presence and ordinarily flawless face of the young Peacecraft hovered behind him, patiently considering him with her cornflower shade of blue.

A sharp light stared him in the eye. The precise, detached hand of the medic lifted to his cheekbone and gently pulled down his eyelid and the penlight clicked off. "Well, they're looking better now. How can you see? Any better?" the man asked as he hurriedly put the light away and rummaged another item from his medical purse sitting beside him.

"Yes. They're fine," Heero said lifelessly.

"Well, that's good, because they check out. All that's left is everything else."

The traveler bowed his head slightly. "Alright."

Despite the odd, strangled tone his voice made, he still felt a cold absence in his chest that choked what little emotion he displayed anyway. The Japanese man dryly cleared his throat and found a cold water bottle pressed into his palm.

He took a drink as the young scruffy-haired medic waited to peer inside his mouth. Obediently he opened his mouth and it briefly was glanced at before it received a bill of health. The medic also rattled off a list of memorized operational questions about Heero's health at the moment, which were all answered with the same monotone affirmative grunt.

"Do you have any drugs that you know of in your bloodstream?"

In suspicion, he narrowed his eyes. "Why do you ask?"

The medic's face was good-intention itself. "Even I know you were kidnapped by an infamous criminal, even though I don't own a television set since my last eviction. I was just wondering if you may have anything in your bloodstream out of the ordinary."

"Yes. Tranquilizers," the Japanese college man grunted finally.

"Do you know what kind?"

"No. I was never told. But they were strong. Lasted for at least eight hours, though."

"Alright," the medic nodded.

Relena still watched silently.

Not that he was complaining, Heero thought dimly. He knew she would have the opportunity to open her mouth and express exactly what was on her mind soon enough about leaving her for a criminal.

"Thank you for the water." Listlessly he screwed on the lid and returned it.

"It's nothing. Hey, you can call me Robert, none of that ridiculous sir stuff. I'm the same age as you," the brunet medic, apparently named Robert, said graciously, putting on a genuinely friendly, small-town-bred smile. It made Heero ache. He only saw a bohemian in his place.

Heero nodded silently. Precisely continuing the medical exam, the medic quietly shuffled through his assortment of equipment intended to preserve life and produced a needle. There wasn't even a twitch of fear in his dark blue eyes, they were desensitized and a banal shade of their brooding Prussian. The thin needle mounted on the hollow container, marked with tiny white numbers, beaded a few drops of the sloshing clear fluid inside.

"Don't be alarmed. We're just giving you something to help you recover your strength," Robert explained, void of a smile, professionally engrossed while he disinfected Heero's arm just above the major vein in the crook of his elbow.

There was a distant spark and the shot was completed, being discarded promptly in a hazardous waste basket installed into the ambulance walls. Heero dimly recognized Relena's honeysweet and reassuring tone politely thanking the medic. He was too strangely enraptured by the tiny teddy bear perched high on the white walls. Black beady eyes smiled compassionately over the silky red ribbon tied around its neck. It smiled at him, and he momentarily left the reality of the situation behind him, blinking up at it with such a drained expression that it looked like a hopeless prayer. The warmth of Relena's arm around his shoulder was lost on him.

Robert sighed quietly as he unhitched a separate medical kid, aside from the standard cuts-and-bruises one. A gleaming plastic array of vials, equal parts vaccination liquids and antibiotics and sedatives and blood containers, was visible from Heero's seat on the cot beside a swinging IV bag. He selected one of the later bottles and a fresh needle for extraction. "Alright. Last thing, I promise. The guys at the hospital might want to check your blood for those tranquilizers among other things, so we'll be taking care of it now. The first shots was just a little nourishment—I heard you had a history of low blood sugar problems in your childhood."

"Yes, I did, but how did—" His voice groped around groggily, while his brain was hardly aware of making the words.

"I told them, Heero," Relena supplied gently, rubbing his shoulder. "It's okay."

"You'll be fine. We'll arrive shortly."

Heero frowned, snapped from his reverie of the singular teddy bear swaying gently on the wall. "We're going to the hospital?" he asked groggily. A squinting glance out the tiny glass windows set in the back doors established that they were indeed moving, as the harsh silver gleam of business buildings rushed by. "There's no need to take me to a doctor."

"Don't be silly, Heero," Relena said finally, stroking his arm. "Don't worry about it. He's only trying to help you and the least you can do is be cooperative."

Robert shuffled over in the moving ambulance, testing a new needle. "It's just a blood test. Besides, if you're as healthy as you appear to be, you'll take a few hour's nap while they run the tests and be released most likely." He shrugged warmly. "Like the miss said, nothing to work yourself up about."

The blonde smiled and invited her cheek to rest on Heero's shoulder. Both her and his listless frame rose and fell gently in a sigh of defeat.

The blood sample was taken and Heero absently rubbed the area with a thumb until the bleeding stopped, again gazing deeply at the enigma of the teddy bear with the comforting face. When the chipper Robert glanced over his shoulder at the seeming coupled pair, he noticed Heero's engaged stare and traced it to the tiny stuffed animal suspended on the wall and swaying with the dips of the road below the ambulance. A smile stretched his face gently. "Ah, I see you've noticed Joseph up there."

Heero quietly turned his head.

Robert's grin practically glowed in a way that was painfully reminiscent of one brunet bohemian. "It's kinda nice. Usually all my patients are too close to death to notice him up there, and he never gets any attention except from me and the crew."

Setting down the medical purse on a small projecting ledge and rested a shoulder against the wall, looking up a few inches at the scruffy teddy bear. He happily tapped at the stuffed paw. "We have a cabinet full of teddy bears, all wrapped up in plastic. We give them to the kids we pick up with broken bones, fractures or sprains—stuff like that. There was this one girl who collapsed from dehydration and eventually died."

Heero flinched in the form of a minute frown, watching the medic chatter.

"She was a real sweetie if I ever saw one. In the ambulance, I was attending her. Somewhere between Park Drive and Franklin she regained consciousness all of a sudden and just looked up at me with those little candy eyes of hers. I wasn't sure what she wanted, but as soon as I pulled out that teddy bear there, she lit up like a church candle." Robert chuckled.

"Then we reached the hospital. Just before they lifted her into the wheelchair, she motioned me over and thanked me and gave him back. Even when I told her that she could have him, she shook her head. Then she said that he should stay, because he was the nicest teddy bear she'd ever done met and other kids would need him more than she did now."

"That's sweet," Relena added softly. In the moment, she cradled Heero's shoulder tighter against her arm, but even if he were paying any attention to her, he would have just brushed it off as casually as he'd done before.

He still gazed deeply at the teddy bear, and glanced once over to the bright and neighborly medic who didn't mind speaking of death. In the place of his small, modest smile, the image of a sharp, false, and humorously embittered one replaced it. Along the ridge of his ear cartilage, the red marks of absent earrings arose and his hair was longer and lighter, spilt-ended and matted slightly from time and stress. And Heero ached, knowing that he was just imagining it.

Robert chuckled nostalgically and looked at him. "Would you like to hold him, too?"

Much to Relena's surprise, he nodded without a second's thought. A few moments later, the scruffy, silently comforting Joseph was untied from his station on the wall and handed to the traveler.

He gazed down at the beady black eyes and the tiny stitched smile. And found one for himself, as he thumbed the fuzzy, teacup handle-shaped ear on the left side of his head.

"Hi, Joe," he said quietly.

---

Just as predicted, he received a clean bill of health and was released a few hours later. Beneath an alias he checked out and was released into the Peacecraft custody once more. At the hotel, his belongings had been found, and he'd requested to keep them with him. His backpack was tucked under his arm. Heero silently shrugged on a coat as he walked for the door without a word to the assembly of guards escorting both him and Ms. Peacecraft. They paused at the door, looking back over their shoulders in the same stifling silence. Dully, Heero growled to himself and wondered what Relena could be doing, chatting with the doctor for so long.

In her baby blue heels and a royal blue overcoat that covered all and hung down at her knees, giving the illusion she wore nothing beyond the coat. A matching wide, baby blue ribbon was tied at the back of her neck in her honey-blonde hair. The doctor and she both exchanged a professional smile and she thanked him as she received the manila folder. There was even the semblance of a bow before they parted and she walked up to his side.

"What's that?" Heero inquired dully.

If he hadn't been forced to wait for this specific folder, he really wouldn't have cared even if there were thousands of dollars in it. Money was no object to the Peacecraft line, and money couldn't replace the natural charms of a gypsy boy, so it didn't interest him in any matter. The relative secretiveness behind that all-endearing smile was what stirred a morbid curiosity in him. Folding it innocently under her arm and tucking it out of reach, Relena gently beamed at him and intertwined her delicate pale fingers with his own.

"It's nothing. Just some medical records, Heero," she soothed him, brushing the pad of her thumb along his knuckles. The dull fire of protest in the traveler's chest was nullified with suspicion.

"Records on me?" Heero inquired warily, looking over evenly into her cornflower blue eyes.

Resisting a red-handed blush, the Peacecraft daughter twisted their hands tighter and smiled ambiguously as she began to move. Her baby blue heels moved innocently across the floor with a pattern of click, click, click.

"Oh, but that doesn't matter. It's just a little something I was worried about. Blood tests, and that. But you shouldn't worry at all—they're all clean. We'll be going home again after Father's convention tonight." Relena beamed honestly and sweetly, huddling tightly against him in a gesture of welcome and comfort. "Isn't that wonderful? Finally, you'll be able to be at peace again and all of this will be behind you. We can start living our lives again, like before all of this happened."

Heero momentarily flickered a distrusting glance down at her. The word 'our' was more alarming than it'd ever been before, but the happiness in her sinless face stopped him from speaking up. He thought for a moment, she might have been checking for rabies or something ridiculous like that.

The mass of bodyguards moved and escorted them out into open air. Relena clung content to Heero's side as they walked and smiled brightly to the men and women walking inside and watching them, not yet recognizing them. Any that would have realized that the Peacecraft children were leaving the hospital would have been deflected by the bodyguards anyway. The door of her dark limousine—thank God for black, because her choices in vehicles were unusual and most often pastel—was opened for them and they slipped inside. Heero let his adoptive sister in first, then glanced at the bodyguards, and finally stepped in himself.

The driver wasted no time in leaving the hospital. Relena sighed to the left of him and praised their luck on escaping the media radar. With all the coverage that his kidnapping had received, news of his rescue would practically cause a frenzy that would engulf all of the Peacecraft family for as long as the public cared to care. And there was no telling how much peace work could be done while constantly trying to skirt the paparazzi. Peace work. That thought caused Heero to automatically recall what Duo had said, snarling in the dimness—that he was only an animal that had forgotten its place, why not scrape off the scum before it infects everything? Images of a tiny humanoid kitten and the soldiers holding it still as they whipped out their butane lighters came unbidden to his brain and he looked over at Relena.

She was gazing out the window almost as if she were pondering how deep the sky was and a sliver of air from the cracked window was throwing bits of her blonde hair behind her. She was beautiful, but only in an appreciative way. She was like an interesting painting where you stopped, swished your wine around, and hummed to your friends about. A statue-like beauty and the daughter of a possible figurehead. She had been beautiful before, in an inspiring, womanly way, but it had somehow gone sour in his mind, like bad wine.

Heero wondered if she knew what her father had done.

Relena sighed again and noticed then that Heero was looking at her. With a congenial smile, she quit her complaining about that relentless press and moved closer to him. "But it's all over now, Heero. We'll go home after the convention and everything can be normal again," the blonde woman said soothingly. "I can't believe that you were gone only for a few days. It seemed so horribly long, searching for you."

"I'm fine," he replied reassuringly. It wasn't really informative, but it was enough. As his adoptive sister and later girlfriend, she'd eventually adapted to his short and often seemingly antisocial answers. She pulled her lips back in a reserved smile, unsatisfied with the answer.

"Are you sure, Heero?" Relena's hand was on his face. "You went through something awful, Heero, you know you can always tell me about anything. It's okay."

Although he had the quiet intention of not breaking her heart and just quietly slipping away from her one day, without all the fret and fuss she could bring with her, there was a sudden stab in his heart that told him that it was wrong. Just being touched by her suddenly seemed like the worst thing he could do. Imagine what Duo would think—how it would feel looking at Relena when all he wanted was to go back to him. But he couldn't do that anymore.

A tiny image of Duo unhappily bared a fang at him, warning him that he'd promised to stay out of his way. If he went back for him, he be breaking a promise he'd distinctly made—if he didn't, he wasn't sure he wouldn't be consumed by the sweeping insistence of the Peacecraft family, be consumed by the memory of Duo. There was no way to walk away without getting hurt, one way or another, when he looked at it and it was slowly making him sick to his stomach. Sitting here, unable to do anything.

"You're not hurt at all, are you?" She asked, shifting over so that her legs pointed at his own, intersecting and creating a triangle of space between them that was slowly closing in. Her palm still warmed his face.

"Don't touch me," someone growled coldly, and to Heero's mild surprise, he discovered it was himself after he jerked away from Relena's hand and felt his brow tightening up.

She almost looked like she was choking. Warm skin turned awfully pale. "Heero? Is something wrong?" Relena asked and the triangle between them momentarily expanded, only to shrink radically as she moved even closer. As what could be expected, she mistakenly thought the violent recoil to be the cause of anyone but herself. But that wasn't her fault. There was no way to know of the realizations her boyfriend had come to in their short time apart. There was no way she could know.

"Did that criminal do something to you? Are you alright? Did he hurt you at all?" Her cornflower blue eyes were concerned, but still somehow very disturbing.

"I'm okay, Relena, for the fourth time. I just want to think for a while, alright?" he responded patiently, though the insistent concern burning at him through her eyes did something to chew away at his restraint.

"Was it that con man, Heero? I know it can be hard sometimes, for people to talk about when they've been traumatized like that," the blonde woman soothed quietly, taking up his hand in a gesture intended to instill peace in him and instead only fueling a fire that had been simply brooding embers for too long, "but trust me, I'm here for you—"

His dark Prussian eyes widened slightly in the poisonous way they do when faced with accusations, and a the hints of disgust weren't overly hard to find in Heero's face as he pulled his hand away, without jolting her this time, and moved back a few inches. If he had seen himself, he would have noticed the unhappy bared lip and thought it resembled Duo's. "Traumatized like that?" he asked, incredulous that she would infer something like that. "Are you saying that you think that Duo might have raped me or something? How can you just assume something so sick like that?"

"Heero, be calm. You can tell me—"

"Nothing happened, Relena," he growled back tersely. The volume in his voice waned a little as he reined back his surprise. "I told you I'm fine. Nothing _happened_."

"What am I supposed to think, Heero, when you stare off into space and you won't even respond to me when I touch you? I'm worried about you! You're acting so strangely!"

The Japanese man shifted completely into the opposite seat, keeping a safe distance between him and the blonde-haired woman of innocence and ignorance. Not that he was recoiling from her unwarranted ministrations; he wasn't sure he could control himself if he was constantly thinking of Duo and how wrong it was to be touched by Relena, the daughter of the one who had ordered the ruin of Duo's life and the bloody demise of his family. To be touched by anyone when he couldn't think straight, being torn so badly. He caught his breath before it left him in a sigh and folded his arms unhappily as he stared out the window.

"Please just leave me alone." His voice was flat, barren, and ultimately dead.

She considered him carefully for a moment before shifting as well and straightening out in her seat. Relena took the time to vainly brush off her long, designer fleece coat and gaze down at her hands for a second, before the nature that upset him took root again despite all the warnings. "That's alright," she conceded, at first. "But you needn't worry. The police will catch that despicable con man soon enough and justice will be handled for what he did to you."

Gleaming metallic signs passed on the narrow roadway, reflecting the light of the sun streaming off the high buildings around them. With his chin supported in his palm, elbow in the windowsill, Heero snorted to himself. "That's impossible. Duo's too good to be caught so easily. The only way you could ever lay your hands on him would be in hundreds of bloody pieces, and only if he wanted you to."

Her intertwined fingers tightened abruptly and her spine shot up straight and she stared over at him like a rather ridiculous-looking, ruffled stork. "He's not a human, Heero. He's no match for the enforcement in this city and Father's private investigators. There's no way we won't have swift justice for his crimes—he will be punished."

"Duo is not wicked. And he deserves every once of revenge he can get," he snapped angrily in return.

Relena stared at him, unreadable in her mixing furies. "What?"

It took a second for him to register that he had actually spoken out loud, and then the expression smeared across his foster sister's face had soured incredulously. "Don't tell me you're sympathizing with an animal like that! What has he done to you, Heero? He did something to you, I just know it!"

Heero only saw red. "He showed me the truth," he growled curtly, again snapping his wrist away from her grip.

He was vaguely aware that a few split seconds later his voice had snapped out at Pagan, his silhouette and two other's on the tinted glass separating the driver and the passengers, to stop the car. Obedient as a dog, the brakes were soon graciously applied and the gleaming black limousine pulled to the side of the bustling street. Waiting until the engine rumbled into a low purr and rolled to a stop, Heero glared over at Relena in frustration, fist around the metal handlebar.

"First of all, Relena Peacecraft," the blue-eyed man ground out, "Duo has been more of a responsible human being in his short life than you could ever imagine being in the entirety of yours. Second of all, I never was kidnapped or taken by force by any means—I followed him willingly and I left you in the soundest of state of mind."

"Heero!" she gasped.

That only suffered a sterner grimace. "And lastly, Relena, know that I do love you dearly as a sibling who has been there for me in the past when I have suffered—but nothing further. And nor could I, after seeing your true nature—an ignorant woman who seems intent on staying just the way she is."

Her mouth gaped obscenely. "Heero!"

"I refuse to live with your delusions any longer." He kicked the door viciously to allow a gust of breezy cool air to toss his disheveled hair about, accenting the hostile expression. "Don't follow me."

When he slammed the door on the dark limousine, he cut off the lamentation of the Peacecraft daughter's honey-ignorant voice to him, but didn't care. He ignored the sudden protest she made to someone else and started walking in the opposite direction. A storm was brewing in him, and it pushed him along the ground effortlessly.

He was going to help Duo—and fuck whatever or whoever was going to try to come between him and the one-eared Neko's salvation. They knew nothing. If he had to, he'd stand in front of Duo's revengeful gun to eat a bullet himself if it would mean escaping cleanly; he'd die in his father, Senator Peacecraft's place without a moment's hesitation. If Duo fell into the hands of such a fearful and violent community, with all guns and blame faced toward a different culture they didn't understand and the bad-blood of an attempted assassination on his hands, he wouldn't stand a chance.

It would be the death of Duo if he were caught. There was no doubt about it.

The second bulky silhouette bolted from the passenger side door at the beckon of Relena's frantic voice and lunged forcefully at him, knocking the wind from him. Heero cried out, realizing he'd been struck by the bodyguard and now was thrown to the ground. Gruff hands full of precise violence wrenched his arms behind his back as his face pressed painfully into the cement. With an angry exclamation, Heero surged up against the immense bodyguard and managed to whip his elbow out of his grip and cleanly into the side of his face. He buckled to the side and allowed Heero breathing room again, propping himself up on his other elbow. For an instant, he sat there, staring up in a daze into the unreal, shining skyscrapers.

Then the unforgiving fist of the other unseen guard took the consciousness from one Heero Yuy.


	19. Part 19 THE CONFUSION OF DOORWAYS

Part 19 THE CONFUSION OF DOORWAYS

He hated being in the habit of waking up in strange places after offending one of the dwindling number of his loved ones. He'd angered Relena indefinitely and lost Duo to his own breezy, embittered criminal will and his distorted but fitting sense of justice. And if he didn't find the latter of those two, he would also lose his foster father in an assassination that should happen by all karmic laws.

And the television chatted dimly in the background, as the media scrambled to their places in order to properly cover the Peacecraft speech. Their microphones would do better as funeral bouquets, Heero thought as

All the strings attached to Heero Yuy were simultaneously coming to dangerous tensions, splintering as he sat and did nothing, inching closer and closer to snapping. Time crawled along wickedly, unconcerned if it happened to kill Heero Yuy's loved ones.

The traveler had regained consciousness some time later with a dismal throbbing at the back of his head. And the image that had greeted him as he had stirred was his own wrist, splayed out before him, and the inkblot stain of Duo's blood on his sleeve. Then his attention had been drawn unavoidably to the fuzzy and colorful television screen, displaying the sovereign face of his adoptive father. He pressed his lips together, and the wistful drift of his dark blue eyes iced dangerously.

The image of liquid indifference, the traveler shrugged off the cotton blanket laid across him and studied each of the guard's faces. Silent and ever vigilant, they paused to consider him, perhaps frown at him, and return to their designated posts. Heero was unaffected by their imperturbable stone faces—his was formidable as well. The traveler was sitting on another hotel bed, probably Relena's because of the disgustingly pastel pallet of colors. He shifted to the edge of the bed and glanced quickly down at his feet.

He smiled when he noticed his shoes were still laced on his feet snugly, and turned that Duo-influenced brand of wicked smirk toward the nearest guard before he lashed that shoe squarely into his chin.

There were a few hollers and loud thuds, but the futile fight soon ended and Heero quietly closed the door behind him after he had locked it from the inside. He shouldered his backpack and glanced down the hall as he did so. Initially, his eyes adjusted slowly to the murky lightning in the hallway—no doubt the entire floor was sealed off solely for Relena's sake—and he thought it was empty. A second later he recognized the hazy outline of a blonde woman approaching and snorted unhappily. Rather than intentionally stir up more conflict and possibly delay his trip to the Civic Building, he decided to try and brush by his foster sister and slip away between the cracks without further altercation.

As he slipped into a doorway noiselessly with his head bowed, he snorted to himself. He was starting to sound more and more like the bohemian the longer he was separated from him.

Silent, it took only a second for his sister to pass by in the dim shadows of the hall, brushing by him without even noticing. As he imagined Duo might have done it. Heero leaned out into the hallway and glanced over through his bed-ruffled dark hair and caught a passing glimpse of the side her innocent face in the glow of a dimmed light. Clutched to her bosom was a bag of food, no doubt for him. He watched her until she pulled out of sight. She was completely oblivious that the shadow she had passed in the doorway of a random, non-descript room was who it was. Like taking a final souvenir before slipping away forever, Heero took a last look at his sister and turned. Unnoticed, he continued noiselessly down the hall and disappeared down the carpeted stairs.

Relena slowed and turned about once, glancing curiously over her shoulder and tossing her blonde hair in the process. "Hello? Is someone there?" she inquired calmly, certain she had the mild sensation of seeing someone, though she had been too busy in her thoughts to register it immediately. Presented only with a dimly lighted hallway, she simply turned and continued on toward the door where she believed she would find Heero, peacefully sleeping.

There would be only a few unconscious bodyguards when she nudged the door open with her hip and happily announced the breakfast she'd purchased to a man who wasn't there. He'd left her behind long before, anyway.

---

Darkness suited him best. Sheltered him, soothed him—assured him that he was invisible to the eyes and merciless fangs of predators who hunted him, night or day. Like a cold, silent friend with its hand on his shoulder. Shadow was the ally of every undesirable, and it protected those who were seen as too vile to live. So that's where the Civic building security guards could have found Duo Maxwell, infamous hunted con and soon-to-be assassin, preparing for what he was about to do. Hidden in the shadows backstage, concealed by a pulled curtain used to hide the black, silver-trimmed boxes of unused electrical equipment, the wanted criminal lounged on top of the largest box with a unlit cigarette pending flame pinched between his fingers. Those fingers cradled a semi-automatic firearm, completing the final mechanical checks with clipped, habitual movements.

Once his assassination tool was thoroughly reviewed, he held it in one palm and gazed blankly at it, highlighted by the dim yellowish light sifting through cracks between the black velvet curtains. With the other he lifted his cigarette to his lips and idly chewed it between his lips, impatiently waiting for the spark of his lighter. Duo mulled silently after he'd lit the last of the Marlboros that he'd stolen, only pausing in his vacant stare at the gun to exhale in a cloud of smoke. Somewhere in his mind he'd told himself he'd kick the habit and make a turn for the better in his life, but reality knew better, and so did he, he thought darkly.

There would be no second winds, there would be no abandoning the bitter obligation he had held since he had witness his human mother slaughtered, there would be no leaving his past behind him. It was all too much set in stone in front of him. The three beats of hatred, violence, and revenge would continue on forever, crushing innocent lives beneath them. And Duo could do nothing to stop it—only join in in his proper place: exacting revenge for his murdered family.

Running his fingers thorough his bangs and groaning to himself, Duo finally picked up the weapon, pressed the chilled metal to his forehead, and, in a whisper, began praying.

"Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us—"

---

"Goddamn it, where are they?" he growled raggedly under his breath, his hands moving furiously. "They must be here, they have to be—yes!"

Luckily, scrounging hastily through the pockets in his pack produced a pair of glimmering steel keys and the Japanese man silently unlocked the door of his ex-girlfriend's car, a storm simmering in his eyes. Heero slammed it loudly behind him and had gunned the key into the ignition before he could even register it. The engine roared to life beneath him, almost as if it could sense his haste thundering through him.

Outside, the sun glared down brightly onto the parking lot behind the massive, affluent hotel where he'd been taken, unconscious at the time, and the dark red car that sped out of it, blowing off the stop sign with something more important in mind.

A polished black towncar housing another entrepreneur staying in Cinq laid on the horn angrily as Heero gunned the engine and nearly sideswiped him, but he glanced back in the sideview mirror with only minor concern.

Fortunately for Heero, Relena insisted on bringing an inconspicuous vehicle with her along with her arsenal of private limousines and escorts to nurture her shopping and clubbing indulgences without a few bulky bodyguards to indimitate her and her rich and often high-hat girlfriends. It was a perfect steal, since she had pressed him a set of keys in the likely occurrence she might become too intoxicated with her friends and request him to pick her up. Like a private butler she could bed down with. The Japanese man scowled at the very thought, and subconsciously shifted more weight onto the accelerator.

He wasn't overly concerned with traffic enforcers, either. With Peacecraft's arrival in town for a highly anticipated address, most police and other security forces would be concentrated at the civic center instead of scanning the roads with their hawkeyes and their radar. And if they were, he would brush them off. Either the bohemian truly had been rubbing off on him, or Heero was too engrossed with reaching the aforementioned bohemian to care about speeding at all.

Eventually, after many disregarded traffic signals and a worthy collection of blasted horns and snapped profanity, the Civic Building loomed in the distance and through wholly determined blue eyes Heero frowned and again spiked the jittery speedometer needle to soothe it at a steady fifty miles per hour. He was sure in his driving ability—and the relatively empty roads also helped him avoid colliding with any unsuspecting innocent vehicle. Without signaling, the Japanese man cranked the wheel to allow the car to smoothly accelerate in the curve that led to the security booths at the entrance to the Civic Building parking lot.

By now, the sun had slunk quietly toward the horizon and the skyline glowed a receptive red as it neared. The journey across town, at illegal speeds most of the way, had taken time, however Heero hated to admit to himself, as he graciously applied the brakes. The security station awaited him, and a guard calmly walked toward him, signaling him to stop. The mandatory check—of course, Heero thought dully. It was a big event involving a highly regarded political figure, delicious bait for assassins itching to toss the order of things into chaos, or just even out a blood feud. Such state-of-the-art security was like a house of matchsticks trying to stand up to men like Duo, though.

Or cats, rather.

Complying obediently, Heero guided the commandeered car to the booth, and the engine purred anxiously as it waited, a lifting yellow bar stationed across the road to prevent him from moving any further. The guard congenially ambled his way to the driver-side window and leaned over, slinging his arm on the rim of the rolled-down window.

"My, you seem kind of late if you've come to hear Mr. Peacecraft's speech." He smiled jokingly, but it didn't make a dent in the vacant blue-eyed stare of the traveler. Still looking blankly at the guard, barely even registering the look of his face, Heero lifted his foot off the brake and slammed it back down on the accelerator. The engine roared happily as the wooden barrier snapped and clattered to the pavement under the wheels and Heero continued his way in, unfettered by such petty consequences. The guard rushed shakily back to his booth. After flinging the door open so that it flapped loudly against the wall, he dove at his radio and quickly jammed the button down.

"Some unidentified guy just busted down the gate and stormed his way in," he reported, holding up the radio receiver to his mouth and squinting out the glass at the disappearing form of the car. "Get security at all the entrances. There's no telling what this guy intends to do." After a few more exchanged words, the guard wandered out and dazedly looked at the pieces of wooden barrier, and scratched his head and sighed.

---

The engine purred idly as Heero Yuy abandoned the car at the curb, with hardly a care for anything but the bohemian who was at the moment somewhere in the shadows of the massive building, plotting and carrying out an assassination of the man who had issued that his kind be killed and had wiped out his family in the process.

Vaguely he remembered seeing more security, and storming through it as if the confused-faced guards were no more than slack-jawed murals on the wall. A blur that passed him as he sprinted through the multiple, futile security gates until marble floors gleamed beneath his feet, reflecting the glowing color of the televisions mounted on the lobby walls, displaying the stage where Mr. Peacecraft would be taking his place in a few moments. Heero shoved a few people out of the way, and apologized only with a mechanical part of him.

His eyes were glued to that television display while the crowd surged around him. Unbeknownst to him, that tiny surge was caused by the security guards trying to push their way through to him. The Japanese man hardly noticed as he watched the goings on. The camera scanned the crowd for a second, and he saw the multiple faces of the press in the prim suits and perfect hair. His heart stopped for a second when he thought he saw glimpse of black among the suits.

An anxious guard called out loudly above the din, and Heero whipped his head around. Ducking out of sight, he wove rapidly through the lumbering masses, hardly even registering that he had just knocked the bag out of a person's hand and spilled out all the contents onto the floor. A group of people clustered around the impediment and created yet another obstacle for his pursuers, though he was too busy seeking out another television to care at all.

He found attached to the wall another seconds later and stopped dead in his tracks.

The sovereign Senator Peacecraft had taken stage in the split second that he had torn his attention away, and he gave a regally composed look to the audience and multitude of flashing bulbs that followed. Behind him the Peacecraft family crest was displayed, a white dove outstretching its wings in flight. The backdrop didn't matter to Heero Yuy, all the time that went into his pristine clothes, or the bodyguards that stood at each end of the stage when it pulled out for a wideshot. His heart was thundering because he knew that he was too late.

He saw the black blur moving and taking an effortless leap onto the stage.

Meanwhile, one Duo Maxwell was slipping through the bodies of the press, huddled close, shoulder to shoulder in their frenzy to absorb each of what would be his last words. Had he not been already in mid-air, his boots waiting to land on the stage, he would have smirked at his dark humor. Had he not being unsheathing a pistol, he would have laughed at his pathetic state—he would have had the time to regret, and he simply didn't have space for something like that.

As his boots struck the highly polished floorboards, it was the only noise in his ears. All the sudden shrieking and shouting ignited by his sinister presence droned out beneath the steady clicking of flashbulbs. And a dull roar in his brain blocked out his conscious and instead replayed the bitterness of having to watch 'animals being put back in their place.' A severe frown crossed his face and he flung off his black baseball cap, revealing his inhuman ear and indisputably declaring who he was to the shocked press and one shocked senator.

With a pistol leveled in one hand and fury in his eyes, Duo flattened his ear against his head and grimaced, revealing his abnormally sharp, feline teeth.

Senator Peacecraft had only flinched in shock when the black blur appeared on the stage before him, and now the horror struck home. He went deathly pale as he recognized the furious face from countless news reports and the significance of the single Nekonese ear. In a last panicked instinct, he began stumbling backwards as guards lunged forward, but everyone else moved in slow motion as far as Duo Maxwell was concerned. Everything done to save the warmonger was fruitless in his eyes.

As Duo cocked the gun, Senator Peacecraft realized his mistake many years too late, as that criminal in black before him snarled and pulled the trigger.

He assumed that firing the gun would end it, would justify all the horrific work he'd done to get to that stage, but of course, nothing would be that simple for him.

As he felt the muscle twitching in his trigger finger, there was a familiar human voice in his head saying something he couldn't quite understand while in such a state of rage, but he knew whom it was from. And because of it, there was a tiny blood burst from his shoulder and very large jagged hole in the backdrop instead of Senator Peacecraft's head. Trembling and pale as a sheet, the political figure dropped to the floor by instinct and Duo limply let his arm fall to his side. Something cold shifted against his fingertips and the weapon clattered to the floorboards with a noise that rippled through the entire hall.

He'd fucked everything up. Fucked _ev_erything up.

Maybe he really should have brought the traveler's rabbit's foot along.

In the lobby, Heero gaped hopelessly up at the grainy image of the bohemian confronting, shooting, and botching the assassination inexplicably all in a few, righteous moments. All the strength drained from his legs and he nearly staggered into some inattentive man, still unable to tear his eyes away. Duo stood static on the stage, his back to the panicking audience, and simply waited as the guards bolted at him from their respective corners. Heero watched as the criminal hung his head tiredly and then was buckled violently to the floor.

"Duo!"

Heero lashed out once at the blue-clad security guard that had also grabbed him, but it was useless. The other guards that he had brushed off in his hurry to run to the bohemian's side caught up with him and joined in restraining him and dragging him off to throw to the authorities.

* * *

Yeah, Election Day. Alright, I'm not going to tell you to vote. You hear that enough. I say, do what you want. It's your decision to make, and if it doesn't matter to you either way, I can't make you care, right? Whatever, not like _I_ can vote. To get back to the story, which is what y'all are here for—the plan goes like this. I'm going to focus my energy on trying to finish The One-Eared Neko on schedule, i.e., not making you wait three months a piece for the last two chapters of the story, which are the only ones not currently written or almost finished. That means My Shini, My Hamburger is going to have just wait its turn. It's not a hiatus, or anything, but I'm gonna focus on Neko until I finish it, and then the focus can shift back to Shini. And when I finish the first arc of Shini, then I'll have time for something else. You'll just have to wait and see.


	20. Part 20 THE MONGREL

Part 20 THE MONGREL

"It is my most sincere wish that the criminal responsible for unhealthily influencing my foster brother and later attempting to assassinate my father will swiftly be brought to justice. We all can only hope that others of his people will not take his abominable actions as an example for all to follow. I know that violence is not what is wanted between both the human and Neko races, and perhaps, if this con artist and criminal is brought to justice, it will serve as a way of bringing light to what needs to change between us." A sweet smile sealed the deal for the mass of rabid press, almost rabbling amongst themselves as the sunny-faced daughter of Peacecraft ended the press session with a polite little bow and stepped elegantly down from the podium. And in her place, her steadfast publicist began taking whatever questions had not been answered and dealt with the more unruly of the reporters as Relena was escorted safely out of the building.

However angered she was Relena was also aware that in light of her father's attempted assassination she was also liable to be targeted and knew better than to stay in the open too long. So she quickly fell in line with her bodyguards aside of her and quickly left the conference room. She folded her hands in front of her, the picture of unflappable determination as she left in a simple white dress and pale blue jacket. Though she had hardly appeared before any type of press conference before this time, but it appeared that she had inherited some of her father's leading ability. While he was recovering in a very secure hospital room, she had taken over issuing statements on her father's health and the persecution of his would-be assassin.

As she passed through backstage, she glanced over to the guard who usually accompanied Heero when he was dragged along to their father's ceremonies and saw him scoping out the perimeter, charge-less.

Duo Maxwell, at the moment, was in the custody of the Cinq PD until the time that the Federal Government would take over in his trial. Because of the severity of his attempted crime and Peacecraft's immense visibility, not to mention all the other crimes that had been chasing him in the first place, there would be a trial commencing very shortly. There was definitely unabashed mention of his species also helping in setting an even sooner date, and there was a certain fearful animosity that Duo could see in the eye of every officer that he was handled by. They all wanted to execute him as soon as they could, because they were afraid of him. Everyone in the political and criminal world understood how long cases could stretch on, but this one would begin within the week.

Duo scoffed darkly to himself while he sat on the grimy floor of the holding cell they had given him and thought about all of it. They really didn't need a trial, when it came down to it. The judges and the jury would all sit and stare at him and see the unhuman creature that he rightly was 25 of, and then indict him for the death penalty. He was only about 75 human, and he doubted he would get 10 of the true justice he deserved and twice the spite. After all, they were pretty pissed that an 'animal' had been so expert at simply smiling them out their money. His testimony, if he was even allowed it, on the count of not being a legally registered citizen or even completely human, would probably be skimmed over as animalistic lies created to earn him a lighter sentence. It would pathetic ploy to save himself, anyway—no matter what, he knew whatever jury he could receive would have had already decided his fate, and the letters hadn't even been sent out.

While his mind could only fathom the prejudice with which he would shoved in to a proverbial guillotine, the one-eared Neko sat on the floor of his cell, cross-legged and adamantly silent. The bench had been removed, as well as the sink, for fear that Duo would again pull it effortlessly from the cement and chuck it at the bars, like he had done when he first reached the cell and had had a lot of unused energy and frustration to work off. For the longest time, there were two guards just past the bars, and another pair just past the security door that in order to reach the cells had to be unlocked three or four times. And the stood stone still, trying not to look at him and instead staring holes in to the wall above his head. Duo knew they were probably braver than most humans, for not constantly watching him with a distinct favor for their firearms at their hips, but they still smelled of fear.

He scented the air with a sniff and opened an eye quietly, looking at the back of the one to the right. As ridged and stoic as always, that cop. He remembered distinctly that he was the only one who had said his name as he had arrested him, and he was seemingly more honorable than the other few. In the sixteen hours he'd been in the cell, that particular officer had looked at him a few times and even kept the gaze, undaunted, when Duo had stared back.

There was a decent face on him that could hide whatever apprehension he did have, and Duo let out an internal smile. However it didn't last long because there was an opening of a door just past the barred security one. He didn't bother twisting his head to look. With all the bars obstructing it was hopeless to see until someone stood directly in front of his cell. Duo snorted silently to himself as the scent of three more officers wafted in, thinking how frightened everyone must be to have so many armed men for one seven-year old Neko-man.

He closed his eyes and continued to sit cross-legged as the new visitors came to a stop in front of his cell. Duo didn't need to use his vision to see all about them, his nose could tell more than his eyes ever could. There was a portly man before him, at the front of the formation, with all five guards that now stood before his cell at the end of the block around him. Older, and much less healthy. A distinct scent of cholesterol hung around him. And plastic. Duo scrunched up his face slightly, still with his eyes with the feline pupils closed. Where did the plastic come from?

"Hey, mongrel," the portly man called. "You've got a little present." When Duo didn't respond, he took whatever was plastic in his hand began tapping it on the metal bars that separated them. Obviously he wasn't too afraid of the half-Neko, or else he took power from other's weaknesses and felt like mocking the man in the cell, with his disheveled black clothes and tangled hair. "Wake up, I said that I brought you something nice."

"I remember you."

There was a sharp, fearful stepping-back from everyone, physical or mental or otherwise, as Duo's voice cut through the air suddenly. They were probably the first words he'd spoken in several hours. What a first. The round man who clutched a gray plastic container in his hand staggered back slightly, suddenly wanting to be away from the steel bars that held the criminal in. Duo could smell the high-blood pressure spiking and a sheen of sweat staring at his hairline.

"Marcus Otto," Duo said firmly. "A very close friend of the Peacecraft family, distinguished Cinq officer of thirteen years, married twice, first wife deceased because of a traffic accident, with a son in the service of the military. A son that served for many years under the Peacecraft's eldest son, who currently works overseas quieting coup d'états in foreign countries."

The man identified as Marcus Otto frowned heavily at the con man from behind the safety of reinforced steel.

"So, you know me," he ground out.

"Yeah, I recognize you," Duo replied succinctly, leaving a sinister air as he peeked open an eye and displayed a devilish smirk. "I've done a little of my homework." He was very pleased in having given the man a very substantial scare and fueling the sever expression he held as he snapped in reply.

"Well, obviously not well enough, otherwise you wouldn't have failed so miserably, would you? Officer Gradly of the FBI will becoming to speak with you tomorrow, and you'd better not have any shit for him like you did for us," Otto insulted darkly as he let the small, gray container drop from his palm to the floor, and then kicked it through the bars of Duo's empty holding cell. Skittering across the cement, it skidded to a stop a few inches in front of the sullen con man. "There, some nourishment for the beast."

As Otto and his guards turned and left, the metal locks clattering loudly, announcing their departure, Duo opened both of his cat-slit eyes and glared murderously at their backs as they disappeared. The other guards repositioned themselves to where they had been standing for the last eight-hour-long shift and stood silently, still burning holes into the wall above Duo's head. The one-eared Neko briefly looked them over for signs of a response, and grunted to himself when they didn't and leaned forward to take the gray food container. Duo remained cross-legged, almost as if meditating on his botched act of revenge, and warily pulled the lid off and smelled the contents before he could see them.

Duo looked down at what was in the plastic box and hitched his eyebrows together disapprovingly. "So, this is what the world thinks of me? A ravenous beast?" He lifted one of the items in his hand and gently stroked its leathery ear. "They really think I would eat a bunch of mice?"

The white lab mouse that he cradled in his palm sniffed fearlessly at his fingers with whiskers quivering. Duo was quite taken with the mouse's completely innocent blood red eyes and underneath his flat look there was affection glimmering through again. He pressed the first mouse gently to his chest as he reached out and took up the other one, slightly larger and equally curious as it investigated the folds in his knuckles. "Well, aren't you two just sickeningly adorable."

The mice sniffed in his direction and twisted their tails, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was one-quarter deadly feline. Utterly tamed, he thought. And when Duo's stomach let out a low rumble, he said, "And you're probably just as hungry as I am. How long did that man leave you in there, anyway? He didn't even give you any bedding for your feet in that box, or any water either. Man, he'll make a wonderful housewife someday." He put the mice he'd dubbed Chow and Mein back in the box and put the lid on gently before standing up.

The guards visibly stiffened as he went up to the bars and wrapped his hands around them at chest-level. "Would either of you two happen to have some candy or something on you? The mice are probably hungry and I want to feed them."

Lefty's face darkened, almost in disgust. Duo could hear his gun giving off tiny metallic sounds as he moved, very visibly uncomfortable. "You fattening them up just so you can have more to eat?" he accused quietly, his fear taking a backseat to his repugnance.

"Definitely not," Duo growled back, twisting his face up. "Would you want to eat them? No? Well, neither would I. I'm not some fucking housecat, you know, I'm not so different from you _hienn_ as you'd like to think—"

"I've got a few saltine crackers from my lunch break."

The con man twisted his head towards the guard on the right, who had stepped forward instead of indefinitely backward and actually reached out a hand to the one-eared Neko, with crackers in hand. "I don't think it'll make them sick," he added quietly, as Duo's bright violet eyes raked over him approvingly.

"Thank you," he said genuinely, noting happily how the man didn't flinch when he took them from his hand and recoiled his arm back into the shadows behind the bars. He smiled brightly and lifted up the small packet. "The mice appreciate it, buddy."

"Yeah," Righty grunted in return, stepping back into his place and this time watching as Duo sat back down, opened the packet and continued in feeding his new fellow imprisoned creatures, talking to them as they nibbled and cleaned their white fur. The young guard felt his associate's sharp look on the side of his face, but didn't say a thing to him for the remainder of their shift.

At the same time, on the other side of the Cinq PD, one Heero Yuy was finally being released after apologizing quietly and paying for the damages he'd caused and escaping with little more than a slap on the wrist. After all, there were much bigger fish to fry that day than some delinquent, the Japanese man thought as he walked out into the sunlight toward the road, with police eyes on his back until he'd left the property.

---

"I'm not here to pistol whip what I want out of you, Mr. Maxwell, but I do need you to cooperate with us. That's the only way we can get anything accomplished."

"That's new—giving me a name. Usually people name strays cats something like Garfield. Or maybe even Snowball. D'ya think I'm special enough to be called Snowball?" Duo lilted sardonically, his smile practically dripping with resistance as it stretched slyly across his face, twisting the shadows on his face to look all the more sinister.

"Oh please, oh please, all this kitty-cat wants is a name to call his own. '_Oh Pussycat, oh Pussycat, I love you. Yes, I do_—"

A fist slammed on the table separating interviewer and interviewee loudly. "Mr. Maxwell!"

__

"What's new, Pussycat? Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa—"

Officer Gradly's severe frown lost all the sympathy it had struggled to keep and he felt the obligation to twist his arm back and promptly punch the absolutely irritating sarcasm from his very mouth, if he refused to cooperate. Duo grunted sharply as his head whipped to the side with a violent sound echoing through all of his skull and when it lolled back into place with his bloodied chin resting limply on his chest, he spat out the blood in his mouth and actually retained his silence for a second. That seemed to satisfy the normally-restrained officer, that his act of violence had truly been necessary to their operations, and began to order his staff standing in the shadows of the one-light interrogation room when there was a dark chuckle from the handcuffed criminal, slack on the chair. Turning a darkened face toward him, Officer Gradly was infuriated to hear Duo Maxwell's proud voice once again dripping with his relentless, tainted sarcasm as he sang.

__

"But the cat came back, the very next day…"

---

Whatever information they would have been able to squeeze from Duo Maxwell, like rummaging through haystacks that fought back in search of a few needles, about the money he'd skillfully whisked out from underneath countless hapless Americans and the things that just happened to stick to his fingers as he walked out the door, would have been useless anyway. In the first place, he had thrown away all but the most precious of his worldly possessions in preparation for his final act in life and all his stolen funds had found new homes in the donation boxes of churches across the nation. And in the second place, Heero Yuy had already found what was left of the grand criminal reign of Maxwell's Demon. While federal agents escorted a handcuffed man to a darkened interrogation room, the Japanese man strode resolutely toward the local impound with fifty crisp bills in his pocket.

Through the dense mesh fence and curls of barbed wire strung along the top, he could clearly see the white Isuzu as it waited silently, almost mourning the loss of it's reckless owner. There were even minute hints of a smirk as the young college student approached the gate, thumbing the denominations of money he now held. While the authorities scrambled to juice knowledge from a certain bohemian, he had been skimming through the all the towing agencies and impounds, while simultaneously dodging the authorities himself to keep himself out of his sister's sight. He'd found the white Isuzu before the Cinq police force could think to investigate it.

Heero approached the female officer at the impound booth and paid the fine. He had withdrawn the money from his college savings to pay for the Isuzu—it was the only account in which Relena's people wouldn't catch onto a withdrawal immediately. This way he had more time before the transaction could be tracked and his lead on Relena and the authority shortened. Heero snorted quietly to himself as he slowly approached the white truck, thinking the bohemian really had rubbed off on him, more than he would have imagined.

The door swung open with a dull metallic thunk and Heero stood motionless on the sparse grass, gazing deeply into the cabin with those pensive blue eyes of his. Sunlight spilled in and illuminated the steering wheel and driver's seat in a bright, innocent way. It lit up the bloodstains that had dripped from Duo's battered body and turned them a flat crimson color. It was like staring straight into a ghostly scene of the past, something that he knew logically had been destroyed but had survived in sentiment, and something subconscious drove Heero as he knocked the mud from his boots and stepped cautiously inside.

He moved inside silently, and sat down in the driver's seat in order to pull the door shut behind him. He felt surprisingly lightheaded as he glanced around with a bated breath, and let it out slowly as he felt all the strange memories of his time spent here come back to haunt him. There was still a large bloodstain on the seat from the night the bounty hunters Duo had had the decency to spare the lives of had caught up with him and beat him without remorse, even if they happened to kill him. The bloody knife he'd found lodged in his back had dripped a trail of crimson on the dashboard and later clattered to the floor and fused with the carpet. He was amazed that whoever had towed the truck hadn't taken notice to all the traces of blood and reported it. Unless Duo had dropped it off himself.

Which meant he had the intention of never needing it again.

A flicker of inspiration crossed the traveler's brooding blue eyes, and he quickly shifted to look into the sleeper compartment. Sure enough, lying on the cot was the bohemian's entire set of luggage, seemingly untouched from the last time he'd seen it. Most likely it _hadn't_ been touched. All Duo had needed was a gun to carry out the violent justice he wanted to exact, and it was slowly coming together exactly what else he had planned.

Duo either knew that he inevitably was not going to be returning, or he didn't want to.

Heero felt his fists tightening up at his sides without his permission, but he knew that with the situation being what it was, he didn't have the time to be getting overly emotional when he had work to finish. He'd thought to hunt down the Isuzu only to find out what had happened to it, if it had fallen into the hands of the authorities, most importantly, then he realized that Duo had carried nothing with him when attempted to assassinate Senator Peacecraft, meaning he'd left it in the truck. It wasn't that he was trying to pry through Duo's possessions, he was working to make sure he'd be able to give it back to him soon.

The traveler leaned over the seat and hauled both bags of luggage back over and laid them beside him on the seat. Both were the standard black. One was roughly the size of a textbook, and the other was a full-sized luggage suitcase. He knew what was in the suitcase; he'd watched the bohemian packing away the gypsy costume what seemed like so long ago. Glancing through, he saw that he had a pile of other guises—many assorted uniforms and outfits, including a plaid boarding school skirt, knee-high socks and a cheerleading sweater. I'll have to ask about that later, he thought nervously to himself. Once he finished rummaging through the con man's many costumes, he curiously picked up the other bag. It was more of a duffel bag than anything, and it wasn't very full when Heero held it.

He opened it and poured out the contents onto the seat.

The items that spilled out all seemed to hold a tiny piece of the one-eared Neko's personality, all seemingly equally precious. There was the black-and-white lucky rabbit's foot he had bought for Duo, a tattered book of hymns, a spare clip, a string of what looked like the one-eared Neko's baby teeth, and a meter-long braid of hair tied off at both ends with little black ribbons.

---

"The trial date of the year has been shoved forward once again, as the Peacecraft family and the empire fueling it have requested that they be allowed to bring the criminal swiftly to justice for attempting to assassinate the head of the family, Senator Peacecraft. As you probably already know, the attempted assassination yesterday was carried out by Duo Maxwell, a young half-Nekonese man who had already had been on the country's most wanted list for quite some time for his numerous frauds and robberies, who is currently in the custody of the FBI. We were not granted an interview with any of the officers who were said to have been talking with Maxwell, but we are informed that he is not cooperating with the investigations of the authorities. We were told by our sources that not only will Maxwell be put on trial for his assassination attempt and multiple other crimes, but also that the courts have decided, in this situation, to strip him of constitutional rights, citing that Nekonese rights are not protected by the document. With the severity of his offenses and the threat of other similar acts of violence from Nekos spurred by his actions, the courts have decided that this is an urgent issue and in only three days the Peacecrafts and Maxwell will be testifying. His offenses have been reported in over eleven states, qualifying him for a federal trial and the death penalty—"

Heero stared, enraptured somberly with the image of the bohemian once again displayed in the corner of the screen, with a pen cap held between his lips and his notebook and newspapers spread out in an array of paper on the small hotel table. The television on the dresser had been turned to face him while he frenetically wrote and sometimes remembered to eat something. He paused in his scribbling and stared at the screen as the newscaster's face disappeared and instead there was a semi-blurry, half-gray video clip of Duo being escorted out of the police car into the station, only an hour or so after the botched assassination.

Heero felt his heart begin to crack again, watching the blurry profile of the bohemian glancing sullenly over his shoulder and looking straight into the camera for a moment. He could see straight through the mask of animosity and see the utter despair in his expression. He knew now that it had always been there, but the more he'd been around that false veneer, the more he knew it had been a trick to hide the massive weight on his shoulders, both from others and from himself. Heero resisted the urge to become lost in his thoughts, lost in those blurry eyes on the television screen, but his fist subconsciously tightened around the braid of hair he had taken from the Isuzu and laid across his knees while he wrote. He forced himself to refocus.

The story had shifted, and Heero used the remote to change from the metropolitan news to the national on CNBC, waiting again for the chance to see his sullen-faced bohemian. The entire time he'd been shacked up in the hotel room the television had flickered from news station to news station, hoping to glean even the smallest new bit of information that he could on Duo's state. There had been a few top-of-the-hour debates with the leading political analysts and the news hosts that had infuriated him and caused him to see red, but luckily, he had had the sense to simply change the channel before he did something drastic, like sending his foot through the screen.

He had been writing furiously almost the entire time as well. As soon as he had been allowed to check in, he had swept up the stairs with his own backpack filled with his and Duo's things. He unpacked carelessly on the hotel table, swiped the ashtray off the table single-handed as he shrugged off his jacket on the opposite shoulder, and made room to lay out his notebook and the multitude of newspapers he'd gathered last night. Splashed across every single front page, the media's new lawbreaking sweetheart, was the face of a one-eared Neko. Heero noted to himself that he must have been the first half-breed, let alone Nekonese, man to be pictured on the front of a human newspaper. In most of the pictures he still wore his concealing black baseball cap, and it took a little bit of sniffing into the first paragraph to disclose his species, but a few had managed to copy off the limited video they had of Duo post-assassination and his _ikkunnoi_ was hazily visible. But how long before the trial started?

There would be so many pictures then.

The newspapers were sprawled out to various articles on the assassination. Crumbs of meager sandwiches remained dusted across the edges of the table, brushed hastily from the traveler's lips as he was forced to take in nourishment to prevent from falling asleep as his pen kept moving. Writing furiously, crossing out and editing furiously, Heero was hell-bent on scribbling out the rest of his term paper. The small videotape cassette from the white Isuzu's video log sat quietly on top of the wrinkled New York Times.

Immediately after the news had ended, he allowed himself to put down the pen and took a brief shower just to clean up after many hours of straight writing and researching. It seemed ironic how the many antisocial nights of developing study habits would be so important in trying to get back the man he had fallen for. He hadn't necessarily stumbled across too much action pouring over his Pre-Colony History books. While quickly toweling off his hair, Heero pulled on fresh clothes and decided to begin hunting again for another newspaper, newsletter, or notice that had not already dissected. All the newsstands in the immediate fifteen mile radius of his hotel room had already been combed clean, and he was determined to keep looking, if only to find another picture of the bohemian.

He barely slept for the next three days.

---

It was turning out to be not only the trial of the year, but one of the greatest sham in the name of American justice that Heero had ever been so unlucky to be witness to. What was worse was all the trouble he had gone through just to be able to see it, the travesty of legal equity that it was.

The blocks surrounding the courthouse were almost literally swamped with media dogs, a flood of reporters surging against each other like mindless cattle in their quest for the best shot, the best chance for whatever fleeting interview or comment they could get. That's how it appeared to Heero, at least—he'd never been awfully fond of the press. Being an adopted child of the Peacecraft had merited him more time in the petty spotlight than he would have liked, and he hadn't changed his opinion since then. There were a few he thought he may have recognized, though time would have wrinkled their faces a little since he'd seen them last. Taking a page from the bohemian bible, Heero had donned himself a simple incognito routine with a pair of Duo's dark sunglasses and a baseball cap similar to what Duo had worn. Call it imitation, but it worked well enough.

Heero had been dodging the authorities as well, keeping well out of Relena's radar when he could, and he knew that she inevitably would be here, if only to stare sourly at the accused from her quaint little seat while he would be convicted, sentenced, and hauled off to receive his death penalty. Avoiding her would be relatively easy, but at first, finding himself away into the actual courtroom was a much more pressing issue. Heero pressed his hand to his tight jacket pocket as he twisted his way inconspicuously through the crowd. It helped that most all of the press was much taller than him, and barely gave him a second look as he passed, too engrossed in their filming and scraping for interviews.

Finally, he found what he was searching for. On the outskirts of the mass, he stumbled quite across one of the more friendly reporters. The short, dark-haired, and helpful-looking man offered him a hand up and asked if he was all right. Heero quickly preened him with his eyes and let a small, warm smile take his face when he saw that he had no pesky cameraman in tow, a strong resemblance to himself, and a laminated press-pass hanging innocently around his neck. The reporter asked if he could help him, and Heero said plainly, "You already have."

And when he made a confused face in return, the traveler put his fist into it.

He dragged the unconscious man behind a decorative bush, apologizing silently for what he had no choice but to do. Taking the press-pass and examining it for a minute, Heero then walked casually away from the fallen Andrew McAllen, all attention suddenly focused on the police cars escorting the car of some important political figure come to witness the proceedings. It may have been Relena herself—it was impossible to tell from his vantagepoint if it was a pink limousine—but Heero could have cared less at that point. He went toward the marble courthouse stairs without so much as another glance over his shoulder.

That brought him to the present place and time. His back was pressed against the rich wood paneled walls at the very rear of the courtroom. All the seats had quickly filled once the media had been let in, first allowing the immediate family of witnesses and such to fill up the first rows. Heero had glided through security easily enough—all the press began to blur together for those security guards after a while—blessed his luck, and taken a spot on the back wall and awaited the commencement of the trial anxiously. For his purpose, it was better to be on his feet, anyway.

Heero thought he spotted a familiar, wheat-blonde head within the crowd, but quickly focused his eyes on the stand, making sure that he wouldn't miss Duo's entrance and that he wouldn't get caught staring by that particular young woman, whoever she may be. As he shifted his eyes away, he even caught sight of the notoriously Republican and temperamental Dermail, who had long been a strange force in the political world, almost seemingly seeking out fights where the Peacecrafts would have pushed diplomatic relations. Heero was somewhat surprised to see him there, though it was a dull curiosity, the kind housewives display when they simply say, "Oh, that's nice, dear," and continue with their important tasks without a thought. Around him were a few imposing figures, not particularly large but intensely staring at the door at the side of the court, where Duo would be paraded out in all his apprehended glory. Heero was intrigued enough by their presence to at least glance around for any other familiar political figures who had come to witness his bohemian on trial, but found none.

And besides, it had begun.

There was a distinct ripple that went through the air when that door opened, an abrupt silencer to all the miscellaneous chatter that had gone through the courtroom. It was like electricity moving invisibly through the air and it was evident to Heero on the various faces around him that there was a certain fear reserved for those seeing a Neko for the first time in person. Despite himself, despite the steady coaching in his head that coaxed him not to get worked up, Heero found his heart speeding up and his feet begging to move, pleading to do something when the defendant finally came into the courtroom. He allowed himself a moment of something—grievance, worry, anger, or whatever it was that had overwhelmed him—to pass and make room for a steely face of pure business.

They'd taken his trademark black clothing, he'd noticed, and replaced it with that degrading orange jumpsuit. And instead of looking sour, there was a frightening reservation to his face, like that of a noble war hero walking willing toward his guillotine for his beliefs, his resolution. There were two guards on each side of him, and luckily for them, Duo didn't resist in the least while they escorted him to the defendant's bench, then remained at either side of him. The less nervous of the two seated himself where his attorney would have sat, were such things as equal Amendment rights for inhuman beings.

Where there had been earrings were empty holes in cartilage, where there had been golden bracelets were silver handcuffs, and where there had been a baseball hat was nothing, revealing his proof of his Nekonese lineage. As murmurs and whispers started up behind him, Duo's _ikkunnoi_ would twitch dismally back and forth and sometimes even flatten when the rare comment inched beneath his defenses and got to him. Heero would have gladly taken on the entire courtroom if only it could make them stop with their ignorant speculations, their slurs, whatever it was that could make the bohemian frown like he was, so hopelessly.

Heero held his ground while the judge entered and the jury was settled, but when all the proceedings were finished, he wouldn't be standing still. Meanwhile, he kept his hand on his pocket like he was guarding a very important trigger.

---

First things first. The prejudice had to be put into play before any proceedings went along. All the difficulties, all the intricacies and processes that made prosecution such a long operation were now doubly complex that they were dealing with the first non-human defendant to be charged. The Judge announced, shortly after he had taken his seat, that because of his Nekonese heritage Duo would be ineligible to any legal rights protected by the Constitution. And from the political frenzy surrounding him, the court felt it best if the prosecution could be handled as quickly as possible.

Duo had no attorney and stood up boldly by himself when asked to state his plea. His response was a short and concise, "Guilty." He promptly sat back down in his seat and remained there motionless, simply watching the judge's face. He was being tried by the judge himself—the option for a trial by jury had actually been one of the very, very few rights afforded to him, but he had denied it. The sagacious looking judge nodded understandingly to the plea and after a short narration, he allowed the persecution to begin its own, self-serving questioning, as had been arranged beforehand. It did, and the Peacecraft's attorney promptly called the criminal himself to the stand. He was escorted to the wooden box sitting aside the judge's stand by both of his security guards, and he was handcuffed to a metallic bar on the inside of the stand once he had settled down. The attorney strolled up to face the one-eared Neko, his eyes raking across the _ikkunnoi_ with a predatory gleam in his eyes. The roles had been reversed. Duo was now the helpless one, and the _hienn_ was the hunter. He opened his mouth to start his questioning but only got as far as the first three words before Duo piped up.

"I believe I need to be sworn in, don't I?" he reminded sharply, the insult simmering in his eyes like he was sitting over a hot stove. "I refuse to give testimony until I'm sworn with a Bible."

"That procedure is traditionally reserved for Christians and American citizens, Mr. Maxwell—"

"My mother and fathers were Christians, I am a Christian, and I have been my entire life." he said succinctly, the slightest insulted expression peering through his stony leer as he did so. "Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd swear me in properly, thank you. That is, if you'd like to hear God-honest testimony."

The judge interrupted their conversation just as a souring expression began to overtake the attorney's normally charming, fresh face as the realization overtook him that he shared the same religion with a Neko. He ordered Duo to be sworn in the traditional manner, with his right hand raised and his palm on a copy of the Bible, and when it was finished, he sat down complacently and awaited his questioning.

"Now, Mr. Maxwell," the Peacecraft attorney said cordially, unwittingly beginning a dance between him and the distant-faced one-eared Neko at the stand before him with a smile and a compelling voice, which Duo seemed to enjoy stepping around. "These processions will be short. It is clear to all of us that you had the distinct intention of taking Senator Peacecraft's life when you evaded security, leapt on stage, fired a shot at the Senator. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"You realize that that statement will be used as proof of your guilt, then."

The bohemian remained unflinching in his expression. "Yes. I am fully aware of what it means."

"But there remains much to be learned of your other charges—fraud, embezzlement of immense government funds, multiple accounts of grand theft auto, various charges of breaking and entering, and general, decadent, and shameless thievery, just to name a few. Light must be shown on the details of such accusations, to be fair and just to all those who have fallen victim to you during your reprobate career. We would like to ask you where you were the night of July 8th anytime between ten p.m. and five a.m. of the 9th."

"'We'?" Duo inquired flatly, his old uncooperative humor taking its place at the forefront of his resistance. "When you say, '_we'_, do you mean the courtroom? I suppose they're all horribly curious, but then again, what's it to them? They've got lives to live, and they can do that without knowing when I walk out of my house or hell, even when I blow my nose. I hope they would have shit to do other than sentencing a man to death."

"For the record, please, Mr. Maxwell."

"Alright, then. The ninth, ya said?"

"Yes."

"I would suppose that very few of you know that in my culture we have many different names for the different months. And there are sixteen, not twelve. And in certain villages, days in a month might be named after the birthdays of certain Elders, Warriors, Midwives, Teachers, or Hunters—And when the men leave on the yearly hunting trips the women will stop eating and drinking for days at a time, fasting religiously, awaiting their arrival. Some slowly starve themselves to death, waiting nobly for husbands who may never return—"

"This is very interesting and all, but there are questions to be answered, Mr. Maxwell, and many of those in the courtroom do, as you say, have other things to attend to—"

"But then again, I suppose that with _what_ I am to you, there wouldn't be a need to know of my culture. I'm very aware how Americans can make decisions without consideration of all the facts, and that's just the way your culture is. I'm very familiar with it, so it's fine." He quickly turned on the venomous sugar in a smile. "You have so many interesting phrases that deal with that same sensibility, I can't pick just one to be my favorite. '_Separate but equal'_?—or '_God doesn't love niggers'_? Or maybe '_faggots'_?"

"Objection, Your Honor," the attorney said calmly, though there was a little disgust filtering through. "The defendant should have the decency to refrain from such vulgarities and profanities."

"Sustained." The judge nodded toward the fully human grown man. "Mr. Maxwell, please watch your language. The witness will cooperate. Mr. Monsett, you may continue with your questions."

Duo made a quietly loathing look beneath his absolutely cool demeanor, even as he was being put back in place, that Heero could feel at the back of the courtroom. But to the remainder of the court, it only manifested itself as a humbled, almost shy or apologetic smile. "It's alright, good sir." There was a poison in his voice, a bitterness that could be tasted, but not sensed by others. "Now, as we were saying. The ninth, was it?"

They danced the first dance of Human-Neko litigation, and it dragged on doggedly between the two. Sharpened by the most accredited law schools, the Peacecraft attorney was impossibly solid in his method and would have won over the jury with his sheer presence. It was powerful and confident, like the straight-laced rock star of the bar exam, but it was completely different from Duo's dynamic. And that dynamic was a raw, shrewd, dark and literally animalistic charisma that held its own against the one named Mr. Monsett. Their dance continued until it began to seem like an age-old battle of predator and prey, where the roles were constantly shifting. At first, Duo tested his opponent's strengths, looking for that falter that he could pounce on. He refrained from answering any questions without first making a snide, clever, and utterly bitter comment to inevitably rile up the attorney. He pressed back, showing no weakness as he suavely ironed Duo down with question after question of his crimes—all eerily accurate and in-depth.

But it wouldn't have mattered how long he toiled in his research, to make traps for the bohemian into admitting his guilt about his crimes—Duo acknowledged them all without a second thought, plowing headfirst into each answer with a, "Yes, I did."

"You were the man who embezzled over $15,000 dollars from the Winston First Bank on the fifth of April last year?"

"Yes."

"You did? And after you had done so, Mr. Maxwell, would you care to tell us what became of that money?"

"I kept a hundred-dollar slice for myself, but if you want to know where the rest, you'll have to ask how the Open Arms homeless shelter spent its recent anonymous donation."

The attorney made an unpleasant, frustrated expression within his calm, collected eyes and flawless face, which Duo cherished secretly. The prey shrunk back a little, but soon became predator again, hitting the records of Duo's most infamous charges furiously to find a contemptible motive. He addressed almost every single account of theft that he had committed, aside from the constant flow of pick pocketing. He asked the poised bohemian why he felt he must habitually steal, on a daily basis. He asked if it stemmed from a pool of hate concerning the human race, and Duo responded, "Only the monsters."

The questioning dragged on and on, and it became clear that Duo at the witness stand was at the mercy of the plaintiff attorney and he had planned quite a lot of questioning for the one-eared Neko. At times where it would have seemed appropriate to ask if either party would like a break, as the questions and the answers dragged on between the two almost in sneers, the judge remained as quiet as he had been during the proceedings, simply absorbing their conversations to the fullest. Of course, with his unflappable cool, the attorney seemed never to falter while he questioned the criminal, but he never seemed to quite get the verbal edge over a 5'4" man in a orange jumpsuit.

Eventually, Duo's defenses had taken unavoidable hits and slowly began to wither and splinter. During the hour of endless rounds of questioning from the very cordial, very talented Peacecraft attorney, he had even relented to a few questions without first pawing at it with his flawless grin and smooth river of sarcasm and cynicism like a feline would paw at his prey—though Heero was sure that this was more of a case of a bleeding tiger lashing out in desperation at the scavengers who would finish him. He hadn't lied, true to his word; but then again, he had cunningly crafted bridges over the truth with his con artist inclination. Nearing the end of his questioning, his eyes had slowly begun darkening with exhaustion, and he'd even asked for a glass of water. And it wasn't only physically draining—there were split seconds during questioning about Heero himself and his involvement that Duo looked ready to break down in the stand out of some intense, internal sadness. Otherwise, he'd been as indifferent about everything as he had been secretly bitter.

But still it continued.

"…and if it is true that he was traveling with you, what would you say to claims that you may have somehow brainwashed or blackmailed the young man into staying with you?"

"Nothing. I did no such thing to him."

That was one lie, Heero thought. He'd done more to him than he would ever understand, aside from just deflating his entire world and leaving him with heartbreak in his chest instead of the black hole that had been there before.

"So, you're saying that Senator Peacecraft's son came willingly to you, then? Completely of his own decision? All of a sudden he just appears to you and asks you to take him with you?"

"Hell, I never said _I_ understood why, but yes, he did," came the half-smirking, half-morbid reply.

"This intelligent, reasonable young man randomly puts himself in the company of a criminal? Your charges had already been brought to the attention of the media, Mr. Maxwell, and the Senator's son was more than aware of the current political situations and very aware of your infamy—a young man who has never been charged, written up, or even tardy to a single of his high-school classes—just chooses you for a Sunday drive? And you did nothing to influence him? Perhaps some of many potent tranquilizer drugs found circulating in his system would argue against that."

Duo hesitated, visibly wanting to scowl, but his complacent outward show didn't falter a step. "I never forced him to do anything," he said, unable to see the young man in the back of the courtroom who frowned to himself. "It was all his decision."

"…Mr. Maxwell." Some time later, the Peacecraft Attorney began a new line of questioning, breaking off from the last, long, and hard-earned string of query but unable to escape the secretive glare in the one-eared Neko's unwavering stare.

"Yes?" Duo replied sweetly. The tone he took made it seem as if he would curtsy too, if he weren't already sitting.

"All of this courtroom is aware of your heritage, that you are yourself half-Nekonese and therefore, not fully human. But I would argue to wager that not as many here are aware of what your lineage entails, what being partially Nekonese actually means. Seeing as it may be essential to this case, would you mind briefly describing it to this courtroom?" The tone may have seemed as harmless, as genuine as could be, but all in the room knew that it was merely an exercise to fool those who would have sided with Duo if the fact that he was not completely human, citing that they treated him with absolute prejudice. If they asked the question, then they could defend themselves against the very few activists who would stand up in the name of a Neko.

"Oh, the curiosity peaks now, does it? As soon as my conviction hinges on it?" he asked, making an utterly innocent face to go with. "Isn't that it? You want me to tell you how we live like animals so you can brand me as one and put me in a nice maximum-security kennel?" When the attorney became slightly unsettled by the forward accusation beneath the shifting bohemian facades, Duo's tone quickly founds its knives and bore them at the ready as he continued.

"Well, I'll have you know that not only am I physically seventy-five percent human, but the Nekonese people are not as barbaric as all of you would like to conclude. We don't incite wars amongst ourselves, we weren't the ones to create the hydrogen and atomic bomb and concentration camps, and we most certainly don't bring humans to our courts and treat them with such blatant prejudice as I feel and am very sure that I am being treated with, _good sir. _We do not indict humans into our places of justice then strip them of any legal protections. We would never yank the strings as viciously as you all are so damned eager to. And I will not accept your shame. I will take the utmost honor in knowing that I was not making a wrong move in trying to eliminate a merciless killer of innocents, Neko and human alike!" Duo snapped finally, his voice cutting through the thick silence of the room and bouncing off the wall, heightening the sound of his accusation.

The Peacecraft attorney's face twisted as he yelled out a fierce, "Objection, Your Honor!"

The courtroom filled quickly with the voices of the press and the assorted plaintiff supporters murmuring disapprovingly, which encompassed the entirety of the courtroom aside from Heero. The judge even laid down his gavel loudly to call the court to order, as the murmurs and whispers began to grow louder and increase in number. He finally was able to calm the court and announce in a chillingly collected voice, "Sustained." He then calmly told the Peacecraft attorney to continue with his questioning.

There was a sour look on the man's face for a moment, directed only at Duo himself, before he smoothly slipped back into the drilling of the one-eared Neko's dark memories.

Duo smiled faintly to himself as the pressing words poured down on him, but it didn't matter anymore. He could lie blatantly, he could kill that smug-faced attorney if he wanted, even though it wasn't necessary. He had done what he had done, and nothing would change that. He had done what he felt was just in his complex society, translated in his own strange psyche that was both human and Neko, and imprisonment and death were irreverent to that fact.

He was resigned to his loss.

He was ready to die.

"Damn it all, Duo," Heero hissed silently.

And when he finally was allowed off the stand, Heero didn't waste a second in tossing off the guise of a reporter and unfolding his notebook from where it had waited in his pocket, waiting patiently to fulfill its purpose as the traveler began walking towards the front of the courtroom.

Duo had sacrificed his freedom for the chance to avenge the ghosts that haunted him because of his family's slaughter, and he had remained true to his word even when he did not get the revenge he had fought for, killed for, and taken his punishment without contest. It had been pride—a desire to be more virtuous than the ones he was fighting, even if it meant death. It was foolishness, but it was the only way he could live. Heero slowly began to understand what that meant as he moved down the aisle between the crowded pews and approached the elderly, black-robed judge.


	21. Part 21 EVILHEARTED YOU

Part 21 EVIL-HEARTED YOU

Adjusting his glasses, the judge cleared his throat with dignity and glanced through his spectacles at the assortments of papers on his stand and momentarily toward each of the respective benches. At the same time, one Heero Yuy was striding up the aisle, undeterred. "I think it's about time that court take a recess and—hey, excuse me, young man, but I'm going to have to ask you to remain in your seat, otherwise you will be removed by security. Excuse me Excuse me!"

His dignity had slowly become indignant as the seemingly random young man reached the locked gate separating the courtroom where justice was decided in a legal dance, and where the audience quietly watched the justice form within the many steps.

He even scrambled for his gavel to knock it warningly to call attention to this strange young man, though he was looking straight into the justice's face continually as he walked. It seemed like he was completely absorbed within himself and in the task of walking toward the front of the courthouse. In a singular, determined movement he easily leapt the locked gate and continued his way toward the black-robed judge. That triggered the guards at the side of the stand to rush forward in mild alarm, the kind that takes root just before one can realize just how much of a threat there is. Heero knew that they were much stronger than himself, and thus it was futile to struggle against them without something like the bohemian's natural strength. Fighting the authorities would not aid his cause this time.

By now, the traveler found himself close enough to smell the stained wood of the Justice's stand, positioned neatly between the defendant and plaintiff benches. He was not surprised to see the secretly furious and disgruntled face of the Peacecraft's renowned attorney not sitting alone at his desk, and accompanied by none other than the eldest of the family, Relena's blood brother that he had only laid eyes on once before, during a lull in the constant uprisings and political turmoil that kept him away in the service. Heero looked quickly away from him, focusing again solely on the judge and being relieved that it was not Relena, sitting no more than a few feet from him. He steadied himself mentally, trying desperately not to look over to the defendant bench, though it pained him so.

He already knew Duo's eyes were searing holes into the side of his face. He could feel _that_.

As Heero glanced narrowly in each of the guards' directions, the judge sat stiffly in his seat and tried to order him away from the stand very calmly. "Take your seat, sir, or you will be escorted out of this courtroom. If you resist further, you may be arrested. This is a trial in progress, and you are not to—"

Just before the cross-looking guards could wrangle a strong hold on each of his arms, Heero whipped his arm out of reach of the nearest guard and reached swiftly into his pocket. Being trained to interpret that motion as one of reaching for a weapon, the guards lunged quickly at him, but not before Heero could pull out the shape in his pocket and raise it toward the judge. Instantly, he could hear the sharp, cursing inhalation from Duo behind him, saw the judge flinch backwards, and felt the guards violently knock the item out of his hand before they had time to even recognize it.

Heero keened out slightly when a sharp, policing hand on each side took his arms and pulled them forcefully backwards, pinning them to his back.

The rolled up, bended, and generally battered-looking notebook fell to the ground harmlessly and the cover flapped open to reveal pages upon pages of ink, all musings on the workings of a bohemian criminal. Jolted by the sudden movement, the other object jammed in his pocket also clattered to the floor. The two security guards were very startled to see not a gun, but a college-ruled notebook and tiny cassette tape lying on the floor at their feet. They didn't loosen their hold, though, and Heero was bent painfully forward from the force exerted on his arms.

It was quiet for only a second before that damned crowd again started up with the frantic murmuring, the contemplating out loud, but this time it was followed by the sudden uproar of the eldest Peacecraft brother, asking loudly what the hell his foster brother thought he was doing. His outburst was swiftly silenced by the authority of the judge, and as soon as the disgruntled brother settled reluctantly into his seat, his stern, analyzing stare transfixed unhappily on Heero.

"Your Honor—" Heero only managed out a few words before his arm was painfully twisted and the air in his lungs escaped in a hiss between his teeth.

"Interrupting a case in session and further defying my authority is serious, young man," the judge warned sharply. "I hope you understand what you are doing. This is not a time nor place for ridiculous behavior, especially with the times we're living in and the dangerous company in this courtroom today."

That dangerous company, of course, being the heavily guarded, handcuffed bohemian. Heero tried again to speak up, but the guards seemed to have none of that, and the judge's eyes were just as stern with him. "There will be time for you to explain yourself later. The police will escort you out and—"

"Please let me speak, Your Honor," Heero pleaded, actually started to beg, ignoring the sharp administrations meant to keep him quiet by the security guard on each of his arms. "I mean none of you any harm, I swear. I only want to—"

"You'll do well to keep quiet and stop defying my authority," was the forceful verdict, but it didn't have an effect on Heero. He'd been infected with Duo's stubbornness long ago and he wouldn't stop until he'd achieved what he'd worked so hard for.

"Forgive me, Your Honor, but I'm here in the defendant's defense, since he seems to have no just representation," Heero announced coldly, betraying nothing of the fear and anxiety he'd felt only a few minutes ago. "I have documentation of Duo Maxwell's actions from the eleventh of July until the assassination attempt that justify him of his actions against Senator Peacecraft and proves that he did not fabricate the charge of the Senator's ordering the slaughter of innocents, both human and Neko alike. Just as the defendant stated."

The courtroom came down in a hush, and even Duo remained quiet, watching the traveler's back intently with his heart resting neatly in his neck. The judge's intelligent eyes analyzed him quickly from behind the shine of his glasses, taking in what the unexpected interrupter had said. The guards still tried to restrain him, but Heero felt a mechanical confidence overwhelm him and push him to stand up straighter and add, "And if you do not believe that I'm telling, I have the video log from Duo Maxwell's vehicle to prove it."

"Then that would make you Senator Peacecraft's son, would it not?" the judge asked discerningly.

Heero swallowed dryly to himself and admitted it in a humble little croak. "Yes, Your Honor."

His eyes still giving no room, the judge leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing him carefully from the height of the stand. "Son, you must know you've done a very serious thing by interrupting a very important case while in progress without any authority to do so. And I do believe that you borrowed' that press pass hanging around your neck. The young gentleman McAllen happens to be my nephew, and I am still sharp enough in my old age to tell my beloved relative from a complete stranger."

"I apologize for doing any harm to one of your family, Your Honor," Heero amended genuinely, stiffening up between the guards and even giving an abbreviated bow. "But I was desperate to make sure I had a say in this trial. I do not apologize for interrupting."

"Well," the judge huffed, at the sound of the twenty-five year old's unwavering, stubborn tone, "while you're in front of the entire courtroom, would you care to explain why not, son? Otherwise, if you feel you have nothing else to say, I'll have you escorted out and to the police department where they will inform you of just how serious this defiance of court authority is."

When he looked back on his response, Heero thought he should have felt the tremendous pressure on his shoulders, the nervousness sweeping through his body, or at least been a little bit hesitant. After what he'd endured, he should have been tired, jaded, feeling anything but the absolute resolution he felt when he answered the judge. If he had known that with what he said, he was admitting to himself and to the bohemian in stone that they'd never really be rid of each other again, that he never wanted to be, he probably would have been a little less collected. "I have no regrets in following my emotions, Your Honor, and I'm not going to let you wrongfully prejudge my friend without me having something to say about it," he asserted firmly, almost in a threat, barely even aware of forming the words in his mind before they spilled out.

The judge looked back at him, silent and white-haired and sagacious and offended behind his glasses.

Heero, while being confident, almost headstrong, the second before, now could hardly breath as he waited, watching the evaluation turning ever so slowly in the eyes of the man who would be decided the fate of the bohemian, the one bohemian he had ever loved. Suddenly, he felt those nervous breaths for air come to a sudden halt, having nothing to do with anything external. He frantically reread his thoughts, and wondered what the hell he'd been thinking.

_I don't love him, do I? Is that what this is? Love is going slowly mad and disregarding every rule standing in my way and throwing myself to the wolves I'm trying to keep him from? If that's so, wouldn't that mean I was once one of those wolves?_

What had once been a concerned murmur running through the courthouse became a full-blown argument amongst the politically charged observers sitting in the audience. There was one voice Heero didn't hear raise itself, and he had a feeling that the owner of that voice may have already smoothed down her skirt indignantly and left the room. The overwhelming sound of outbursts and objections from the political leaders, many of them on the same page as Senator Peacecraft on the issue of Nekos. As might be expected, much of conservative America believed them to be a sub-sentient species, simply evolved animals, but not as sophisticated as humans. After all, to them God had cast them in his image, not in the image of his housecat. There was a sudden stab of fear in Heero's chest, just hearing the boisterous animosity directed at the bohemian, and now, inevitably, at himself.

The gavel pounded abruptly, one of the few times the simply ornamental object had been used. The unexpected sound cut through some of the complaints, as a few brazen Peacecraft supports were lashing out again, even going so far to yell slurs at the back of the bohemian's head. The judge called out authoritatively, "Order! Return to your seats, please!" He gave a scowl reserved for the rowdy crowd. "Since it is obvious that neither the supporters of the plaintiff nor the defendant can hold their tongues when it is not appropriate for them to speak, this trial will resume in two days' time, at promptly 8 o' clock A.M. I will announce my decision concerning these new turns of events then. Good day. Court is adjourned."

The gavel sound rang out again, and the security guards took their nod from the justice in his regal black robe and started to drag Heero away from the stand and to the side door. Terror struck him again like a train crushing all the air out of his chest and even the most composed part of Heero had given into the shapeless fear overtaking him as he was being pulled away. He tried to cry out something, but found nothing in his mouth. He twisted his head over his shoulder painfully just to get a blurry glimpse of orange jumpsuit as Duo was led off in the other direction. One security guard appeared from somewhere behind a door to usher the somewhat rambunctious crowd out of the main doors at the opposite end of the court. The judge disappeared into his quarters.

Walking calmly with his captors, one of them being Right Guard, Duo tossed another dark, almost saddened look towards the other door where Heero was protesting in his stony-eyed manner all the way, demanding that they let him know if they were going to listen to him and even thrashing a little once when a guard roughed him once to quiet him down. He watched the sight of the traveler for only a few seconds, before resignedly lowering his head, and something grew within his chest.

The door shut behind him and he was greeted again with his old friend, the smell of cold, stark tiles and metal bars. He couldn't tell had swelled up inside of him, if it was an emotion or simply another black rift. It felt as if they had become one in the same.

* * *

It wasn't a surprise that a day later there would be a formation of footsteps creeping closer toward Duo's cell in an otherwise empty block.

In an eerie silent line three figures appeared and lined up in front of the bars that kept the one-eared Neko safely entrapped inside the police department, contained away from the rest of the paranoid and fragile _hienn_ world. The aforementioned criminal retained his meditative silence, sitting cross-legged in the very center of the cold and silent cell. His face was stone, his eyes closed, and his persevering pride radiated off him in thick, dangerous aura like an unsaid ring of fire to keep his disturbers at a distance. Silent and calculating, he listened as the feet shuffled to a stop just beyond the steel bars, one of the encroachers on his solitude being the reliable Right Guard, followed by a new scent.

Duo sniffed distastefully at the unfamiliar _hienn_ aroma for a second, eyes closed, while neither party moved or made a sound for an eternal second. There was no need for explanation; the bohemian knew there would be only one reason for their arrival and only one. The inevitable one.

A woman. Perfume was wafting off her, though it would only be a modest amount to the average human nose. He could smell the cold professionalism leaking out of her, and knew she'd promptly dry-cleaned her clothes that morning. She smelt like business; she wasn't like the other fools who'd come to his cell before. He opened one cold violet eye when she spoke. "There's someone here to see you."

He liked her. Her voice was naturally high-pitched, but it was precise, succinct, breathy, intense and seductive in a very no-bullshit manner. Had he not already established he didn't dig women, Duo probably would have found himself very drawn to her, maybe just as a fellow dark creature. She met his calculating, one-eyed stare with her own mythic version, one with icy blue eyes overshadowed by her distinct brows. She looked like a pale demon, and her long blonde hair was like a beautiful enticement to draw in unsuspecting victims. Her stare was invincible; she reeked of a dark confidence.

He did like her.

"Didn't you hear me?" She lifted one of her strong eyebrows, ones that looked like her demonic horns. This woman was a demon dressed to kill, with her arms staunchly behind her back, clad in a pressed black women's business suit, and her waist-length blonde hair held back in an all-business ponytail. "I said you have a guest waiting."

Duo snorted to himself complacently and straightened his back, closing his eye again. "I thought so. It's about time."

When the cryptic bohemian fell silent again, he felt the woman's stare run him over shamelessly, evaluating him completely, and somehow coming to find it amusing. She snorted and said steadfastly, "I'm sorry, you must not have been paying attention. There is a guest awaiting your arrival, and this visitor has come to see you specifically."

"Tell him I say no," was the immediate response. His Nekonese ear flattened humorlessly against his skull and the signal was widely understood.

But still, this strange woman continued to surprise him by snickering to herself in a worldly feminine way, the way a temptress might before taking her victim to the back room. He listened to her heels click as she shifted her weight slightly, leaning onto her right foot as she crossed her arms. It seemed she was very amused that he very obviously knew who the guest was, and flatly denied him anyway. "That's a shame. I don't really want to be the one to tell him you've declined, he might try to hurt me," she said, joking obscurely.

Duo smirked a little. "I guess it is a pity. But, _micckhen suo im kube_." 1

"He is a very stubborn guest," the woman added smugly, lifting her chin slightly, so that the banal light from the bulbs above shone on her tight-drawn smirk and strangely colored lipstick.

That comment progressed his own smirk into a laugh. "I'll bet he is."

It spurred the woman on to laugh as well, and he heard her shift her weight back onto the other foot, the small movement sending another wave of scented perfume the bohemian's way, tickling his nose. Amongst her department store fragrance laid a tiny sliver of another, which was more familiar. Maybe from a handshake, or passing by in close proximity. For a second, he wished he were more wholly Nekonese so he could smell it better, wallow in the scent, and keep it in his nose, but he quickly restrained himself and cleansed his head again. He was not going to leave his convictions behind anymore. His one sign of weakness had cost him the assassination, and he would not commit one mistake twice. The one-eared Neko stiffened up slightly, his ear swiveling forward at the sudden sound, then flattening in defense as the keys were turned in the lock and the barred door swung open. The perfumed woman held it and smiled almost surreptitiously.

"I'm sorry, Duo Maxwell, but a human has come calling. You don't have the authority to deny anything right now, and if I were you, I'd learn to recognize when I was beat and just start nodding and smiling politely. Your guards will be escorting you there, as always. I thank you very much for your cooperation," she purred, then laughed in her phantasmal way and clicked away down the hall. Her trail of fragrance moved away, then slowly faded from the air and Duo's half-breed senses.

He opened his eyes to see Right Guard standing patiently, holding the cell door open and waiting for him to stand. Baring a lip unhappily, Duo lifted his hands from his crossed ankles and stood up, the metallic chain linking the handcuffs whispering as he moved.

* * *

Even though as he walked down the sterile white halls every light passing overhead seemed like another alarm glaring down at him silently, telling him to turn back or risk endangering his resolution and therefore endangering everything, Duo kept walking. Being handcuffed and flanked on either side by a pair of guards really left few options in the department of direction. His mind was rational, calculating, distant, but it was the nameless organ in his chest that was filling with anxiety as he drew closer and closer to the door at the end of the corridor. It pressed against the skin of his stomach, against his ribs, urging him to turn around, telling him it knew exactly what would happen if he did walk into that room. That anonymous fear told him it wasn't too late to fight back and return to the solitary confinement of his cell, but his mind told him no.

He wasn't going to hurt Right Guard. He wasn't going to turn tail and flee. He wasn't going to look as if he was weak in his resolve in the least. If he felt he looked weak, he would start to feel weak, and if he felt weak, his strength would splinter and he would completely fall apart. The game was not over yet; he still had to solemnly accept the checkmate against him; he was not immune to his own mistakes.

Before he knew it, his fears were realized and they already stood at the door. The sounds of the lock disengaging and the left security guard removing the key were crystal sharp to his exposed _ikkunnoi_, but they seemed so distant and unfairly muddled that Duo wondered if he'd fallen into some awkward nightmare. This definitely was not a good dream—and this definitely was not a dream, because he felt his legs moving mechanically to lead him along with Right Guard and a dull ache in his wrists from the handcuffs. An ache that was as real as the one in his chest as he looked around the room.

A row of several stalls were lined up from wall to wall, and at each end stood on silent statue of a guard, watch-dogging every slight move the one-eared Neko made. Each stall was equipped with a clean, empty table, a phone jack installed on the right wall, a thick sheet of bulletproof glass separating it from the identical side, and a single metal chair.

The chair from the second stall from the end was pulled out, awaiting him. It was an flat, steel-grey color that shone dully beneath the industrial lights strung in a militaristic line overhead, shone like it, too, had been imprisoned there and instead of washing laundry or pressing license plates for a life sentence, it had supported criminals, cons, and convicts while they sat down and had a bittersweet glance at the loved ones or in-depth reports who had come to see them. That chair was not alone. And oh-so-luckily for Duo, his visitor was a mixture of the two, with an emphasis on headstrong fool.

He felt that regret he'd felt walking in that door double, then triple in a knot in his stomach, and he stopped dead in his tracks. The hybrid sinew in his legs tensed instantly and braced him against the floor like a startled tomcat, so intensely that the guards flanking him could not drag him forward and tripped a little on either side. It took only a second for that sudden fear to choke up the smooth-running machine that had been Duo Maxwell until then, but it took a few more seconds for it to pass enough to allow his legs to unclench. The Right Guard, who seemed to have become the only person in the whole city of Cinq to side with him, however little it might have been, waited for the obvious tension in him to wane and released him one cell down from the awaiting chair. The other guard recoiled dutifully as well, and they took their places at the wall, carefully observing the con man, left to approach the chair himself. Had they had as keen senses as a Neko, they would have heard the briefly whispered Hail Mary as the criminal stoned his face and walked up to that chair, knowing that it was much more than a chair.

It was a test of his willpower—of how much could spill over the dam before it started to splinter, and how long could it last—because he knew seeing that _hienn_ face was more dangerous to him now than anything any persecution could throw his way. He could die at peace with his sin without seeing that face again, but he knew that if he were reminded of the traveler, he'd never be at peace with himself again. And he feared that more than death.

Duo turned the corner of the partition and into the brightly lit stall, squinting momentarily at the light glare that obscured the thick glass of who sat on the opposite side. He had made it his habit not to start any false hopes, but for a split-second he wished, prayed, and hoped that maybe his instincts had been mistaken, that his senses were clogged from some unseen allergen circulating in his cell's ventilation, that it was not going to be the traveler sitting on the other side of that glass. The knot remained in his stomach, this time curling slowly and steadily. He took a step forward, almost ready to sit down, when the angle of the light shifted on the thick glass and the glare disappeared.

He was just as blue-eyed as always, Duo noted sullenly, just as baby-faced as he'd been that night, lying unconscious in his arms as the last indulgence of Maxwell's Demon. The lighting in the room did well to accentuate the dark shadows hung beneath those eyes and cast a shadow from his head of dark brown hair over those sleep-deprived eyes. Not only that, but the innocence he'd seen in him, yearned to feel himself once again if only for a second, had seemingly begun going around under a new name in a new town—it was almost gone from his level stare and in its place was a calm concentration and resolution that honestly surprised the one-eared Neko. He hesitated a moment, just staring and listening to the handcuff chain rustle, then sat himself down, never breaking eye contact.

The traveler: the nameless organ in Duo's chest laughed, groaned in defeat. Heero Yuy: his heart let out a little neglected meow despite himself at the thought of how an eternity ago it had been a few days past and they had been sitting in a park, eating Japanese food. And that he shouldn't have done any of it if it was going to affect him like this. He sat down silently, not bothering to slide the chair forward, and stared back into Heero's eyes as if he wasn't really there, trying to ignore what he knew he could not.

He was fucked, basically.

In a single, unflinching move, Heero reached up and picked up the glossy black telephone off the jack and pressed it to his _hienn_ ear without another word. He didn't look away, either, and seemingly was working just as hard to keep his composure in the bohemian's presence. In an odd way, it felt like they had just awoken from a long, dreamy, and unrealistic one-night stand only to encounter each other in the office, the forbidden night distending their thoughts while they stared. While Duo thought these morbid thoughts and many others, Heero waited patiently, just breathing quietly into the receiver. But there were cheerless things whispering in his head, too, be sure. Eventually, Duo's eyes glazed over lifelessly in defense and he picked up his own receiver on the other side, listening to the rhythm of his breathing with both his _hienn_ ear and his Nekonese one.

Heero lingered for a second, the greeting he gave obviously weary. "Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey, yourself," Duo parroted inertly. To hear his own wearied voice didn't seem quite worth the effort anymore. Honestly, he expected there to follow a long, drawn-out silence in which you could hear the tensions churning, but very quickly, the innocence in Heero's eyes returned for a moment in the form of concern.

"You don't look well," he said, still hovering in a tone of voice beneath normal speech and above a whisper so soothing that it took the bohemian by surprise. He was sure that he was just over-analyzing it, he told himself; he was just very worn in all aspects and the traveler had previously held many sources of comfort for him. The only mistake would be to indulge in them now.

Duo managed to get out a dark, husky little snicker. "You don't look too hot, either."

"You haven't been sleeping."

"What's it to you?" Duo grumbled unenthusiastically, shielding his eyes with another apathetic expression. "Doesn't look like you've been resting your eyes much, either."

The traveler, dressed in his typical white shirt but without the tie this time and a few buttons loosened at the collar tiredly, replied evenly, in that same whispery voice, "Well, unlike you, I've got a reason not to sleep. I'm trying to help you, and you should be getting your rest. You need it more than I do." Maybe that tone was from the telephone, Duo thought. It was horribly distracting—it was trying to lull him to sleep, lull him into hesitation, into regret. He wanted to believe him when he said it that way that he could still turn around on this path, mistake or not, and have a shot at redemption somewhere behind him.

_Oh, but Traveler, that's a lie_, Duo reminded himself, drawing his face up into a sneering smile. It was the only one that hadn't been depleted in the last day. "Makes sense. You're the one on outside of the bars, after all. Nothing can stop you, when you think about it," the bohemian said, his voice drifting off as if going into a pleasant nostalgia, the hidden poison masked by that vacant smile. "Yeah, I forget how good life is to be when you're rich, white, and one-hundred percent _hienn_."

However, the effect Duo had meant by that comment dissolved uselessly, because Heero remained as concerned and collected as always, ignoring his sour sarcasm for what it was: another defense-mechanism. He raked his eyes discerningly over the blaze orange jumpsuit that had taken the place of Duo's usual black garb and instantly could pick out where the skin was stretching tightly over his collarbones and shoulders. He could only imagine what they'd been feeding him, if at all, and he could definitely picture a very stubborn bohemian refusing whatever they may have given him anyway. "You're going to waste away, Duo, if you don't eat or get some sleep," he said sternly. "Not even you could go on for long without nourishment."

The one-eared Neko's _ikkunnoi_ twitched apathetically against the cold phone receiver. "Hn," he snorted, grinning falsely. "You forget—not human. It doesn't bother me."

"Duo," Heero suddenly said, his voice twisting up with something odd, "what happened?"

"Obviously, nothing good since I came to this god-forsaken city," the con man grumbled back, that fact blatantly obvious in his voice.

Duo could hear the sound of the traveler swallowing tensely and wetting his lips in the phone in that nervousness as he continued, almost with difficulty. "No, I meantWhen did you start lying like that, Duo? You told me you couldn't stand liars—"

A wearied voice cut him off, unapologetic. "I'm not lying," he ground out.

Now, that innocence had withdrawn deep into the traveler's eyes and coming to the front was that disgruntled wariness, that skeptical frowning that signified his frustrations. He seemed very upset about something the bohemian had said in a dark, brooding way, though he shouldn't have been surprised, Duo grumbled to himself, if he couldn't tell the venomous tone of voice meant just for him—to keep him at bay.

"Nekonese metabolism is five times that of a human being's. They process energy at a rate not even the most physically-fit Olympian could imagine, and in comparison to the amount of time a man could survive on water alone, they need to consume large or frequent meals to have a source of energy to refuel themselves. An average man can survive on water exclusively for almost two weeks—the healthiest Neko will collapse dead within three days," Heero listed off flatly, drilling the facts, cold, quick, and precise, hoping to get it through the bohemian's skull even as he scowled at him unhappily.

"No matter how slim the percentage of Nekonese heritage, the significant effect on metabolism is still there. And you do need to eat, Duo—you need to get something in your stomach soon."

"Yeah, so what? Maybe I do," the criminal relented begrudgingly, crossing his arms and eyes flickering disinterestedly, "but that's got nothing to do with the issue of lying."

"You know exactly what I meant, Duo. You could go on like you are now for a few more days, yes, but you'll probably just pass away in your sleep from starvation before Friday morning, if you choose to continue."

Goddamn, but were those eyes blue, the con man thought wearily, willing himself to focus on something else than his truths and his accusations. He needed nothing now that would expose his own weaknesses to himself, and the traveler seemed hell-bent on exposing those flaws. "You're lying to yourself if you think you'll survive much longer like this, Duo," Heero said softly, the frustration retreating in similar fashion to allow the concern to surface for another breath of air.

The electronic replica of the voice traveling through the phone line that connected each side of the glass was soothing, a hint of morning-gravelly, and altogether enticing, advertising something that Duo had never had the pennies for. His entire life had been this assassination; Heero fit nowhere in his plan. That brief flicker in his apathetic expression beneath the stark lights let a little of that misery shine through for a moment, giving Duo's face time to stretch in the horrible façade of a smile.

"You're lying to yourself, too, Traveler, if you think that's what I'm planning on doing," he purred darkly in reply. "As delusional as always, aren't you? Well, you wouldn't be the same if you weren't, I suppose. You wouldn't have that innocent, Wonder Boy quality to you. It's just the price you pay to believe you know everything."

The silence that followed quickly filled up the void created by Duo's alienating words, masked by a charming purr, and the young Japanese man remained quiet and groping for a response. He found none that would do anything before the bohemian would shoot them down and watch them burn from the safety of his stubborn mind and simply kept his mouth shut. Not even the guards ringing the perimeter on either side of the glass could escape the tensions that saturated the room, spawned from the first moment the two saw each other. And it was even worse for them.

Three, four, five knots were appearing in the center of the Neko's stomach, almost keening out in pain, keening out to the concern in the _hienn'_s eye, keening out in hunger. Yeah, he was starving, but he knew that his body would be able to hold out long enough to serve its purpose, thanks, ironically, to his largely human heritage, and he'd be able to die with the honor of trying to avenge his family and the shame of failing at it—not of starvation. He didn't need anymore blame from the traveler. Neither broke that eye contact as the silence descended. Maybe they were just too weary to take their eyes off something so familiar, too afraid to lose that reluctant source of comfort they had in each other in the strange sense of partners-in-crime, comrades, exclusive witnesses to a horrible event. Neither admitted it.

Heero calmly cleared his throat and spoke up again, pursuing another string of query, hoping this one wouldn't stray as badly as the last. "Why did you plead guilty, Duo?" he tried, dark blue eyes unreadable.

"I am guilty," Duo said simply. "There's no reason to try and deny what everyone could see for themselves. There's no reason to naively believe that I had a chance of any kind of presumed innocence, either—there's no reason for any of it other than to just accept it."

"So, you'll just accept what they've done to you?"

"Just think about it, alright? I shot Peacecraft—I didn't kill him, but I damn well shot him. It's not just that I attempted an assassination of a Senator, which is enough to earn a death sentence in their eyes, but I've fooled them all. I've tricked them, lied to them, suckered them in, and robbed them blind on top of aiming to put hot led between the eyes of their precious Senator—I'd say general America is pretty pissed with me. That's fucking obvious, traveler," he hissed back. "The Peacecrafts will win. There's no way they'll believe anything I say. It's the word of a sick, bigoted, loathsome human against mine. No contest. There's no reason to fight it."

"Yes, there is," that _hienn_ voice whispered back.

"Damn it, knock that off," Duo growled abruptly, unable to listen to Heero's slightly nasal cadence of warmth and commiseration unwittingly trying to seduce him into his weaknesses. His eyebrows knitted tightly together as dull, stressful throb formed in the center of his brain. "Just wonderful," he gritted out, closing his eyes for a moment and heaving a sharp sigh. "There's that fucking headache I ordered."

"You're going to die like this, you know." Still whispering like that, breathing oh-so-quietly like some goddamn seducer. When had the roles changed? Since when was the traveler's voice seducing the bohemian? And why the fuck did he let it get under his skin?

"I got that memo a long time ago, traveler. I wrote it." He refused to open his eyes again, instead forcing himself to focus on the blackness that the backs of his eyelids provided, the lack of light that prevented him from seeing that face of innocence and determination and humanity twisting up in concern for him.

"They're going to kill you," Heero reminded him redundantly. "If they get their chance, they won't hesitate. They might have killed you by now had I not been there yesterday. You could have been walking down that long corridor, headed for the electric chair."

"Or they might have just taken me out back and shot me. The proper way to dispose of strays, you know. Less expensive to kill em that way—the animals who've forgotten their place."

Setback in the Yuy system. Duo had once again thwarted his question into a dark, morbid territory more suited to himself, constantly sidestepping his sympathies and shooting it down with accusations and insincerity. Heero, however, would not let it remain that way and quickly rebooted his determination to get through to the bohemian before it was too late, before his head lay displayed on the Peacecraft mantle as a sick hunting trophy or something, and he started yet another train of thought. He ignored the fact that the bohemian still stared at the back of his eyelids in a very unnerving fashion and spoke softly into the phone he held to his face.

"I've been taken into the custody of the police, given a stern eye, and released twice in the last week, and that was even after you'd managed to shake me off," he told Duo, almost conversational and casual, though the small chuckle was obviously strained and tense.

"Becoming a delinquent?" Duo purred playfully, arching a brow over his closed eyes. "Well, one piece of advice from me to you—Never pick up hitchhikers. Only more trouble in the end."

"The Judge talked with me after I'd been released by the authorities again, on his request, and informed me of his decision on considering my notebook as a piece of evidence. He contacted me by phone—before the press could find and tap my room, thank God—and he told me that he would agree to it and reconsider your case in the new light. He said that my term paper would be regarded as part of my testimony in your defense," the traveler narrated almost lightly, feeling as if the only way to communicate with Duo now that he was at the height of his bullheaded nature was to play at his own game of grins and deceptive laughter. But it just wasn't in him to smile falsely. "Of course, it seems inevitable that I'll be called to the stand. The Peacecrafts will use me to combat my own evidence—try and convince the judge that your behavior has corrupted and tainted me, causing me to act this way. If they can convince him of that, they'll no doubt go after the death sentence."

"Duh," Duo muttered lifelessly, letting his head roll backwards and his closed eyes gazed up towards the stark industrial lights. "Of course they will. Like a bunch of rabid dogs. I know their methods."

Heero fell into silence, an ashamed silence, while the images of Duo's narrative from that night on the side of the road flickered around in his mind, reminding him with each thought of a humanoid kitten writhing beneath a butane lighter that it had been his family that had been the cause of Duo's sufferings. The blue eyes that had ailed the bohemian lowered a little, that determination momentarily exchanging for something else. "I'm sorry," he said automatically, glancing back up to the one-eared Neko's face.

Still reclined in the chair as if dying slowly, taking one last stare into the sun, Duo shrugged unemotionally. "You don't need to be," he grumbled flatly. Before that choking silence descended again, he took it upon himself to turn the conversation down another path; Heero seemed a little caught up. "You got the video log."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. From the Isuzu, you mean," Heero responded quietly, unable to shake off the regretful expression he felt. He wet his lips again as they had long gone dry and readjusted his grip on the glossy black phone receiver.

"Yeah," the con man grunted vaguely back, smirking into the light and the darkness of his eyelids. "I compliment you on that. It's a nice touch. I wouldn't have thought of it. I really should have remembered to erase it, come to think of it."

"How did you know?"

"Saw you drop it. And it's been circulating the gossip hotlines between the bars. But since there's nothing else going on around here, I hear it all," Duo drawled smoothly, his tone rehearsed, his intention insincere and morose, and the impression overall depressing. By now, it was getting to the point where bohemian charms were withering away and even the guard against the wall on Heero's side could see the desperation seeping into the one-eared Neko like a poison. Just knowing Heero was there was wearing him thin.

So when Heero opened his mouth again and asked almost forlornly, "What are you trying to accomplish with all this, Duo?" the bohemian's mood took a very dark swing.

"You know exactly what I was trying to do," he growled back, now frowning. "I wanted to shoot Peacecraft full of lead until no one would be able to get the brain fluid stains outta the cement, but guess what? I fucked it up. Lucky for the cleaning maids, though."

"That's not all of it, Duo. I just don't understand what the hell anybody's going get out of this."

That finally caused Duo's façade to splinter and he sat up like a metal coil, making a severe face like the traveler had never seen. No, he'd never been on the receiving end on this kind of hostility. "You know what my problem with you has always been?" he purred dangerously, his voice laced thick with poison as his fingers clenched around the phone.

"No," Heero answered plainly. "I never quite understood why you never trusted me."

"You always have to ask those questions, those fucking questions. Always playing the agitator—always seeing if you can mess with my mind. You're your our own little revolutionary in slacks and a tie, aren'tcha, traveler? Well, I'll tell you, you're not going to understand or _comprehend _what the hell makes everyone tick. You're not meant to know everything, so you'd better stop sticking your nose in places you shouldn't, or one day you'll find you've sniffed your way into a guillotine and your neck outstretched," he warned venomously. "And most of all, why don't you just fuck off and find yourself another criminal to chop up and stick under your little microscope? There must be another one as foolish as me to take you in. That way you can leave me alone, like we agreed."

"I never agreed to that," Heero cut in. "I never agreed to watch you die."

"Contractual obligation, traveler, contractual obligation," Duo sing-songed darkly. "It's a bitch."

"Yeah, it's a bitch. It's impossibly stubborn, pig-headed, and difficult. I know; I've experienced those qualities before."

The inhumanly tinted, cat-slitted eyes narrowed at him from across the glass. "Sorry. I'm not obliged to listen to your little head trips anymore."

A long, very tired sigh leaked through Heero's chest at the last comment, the last embittered snarl turned his way, and he let his eyelids slip closed for more than an instant. He was tired. He was hungry. He was emotionally and mentally drained and ready to have an eclipsing loss of sanity and going mad knowing that it was not an option for him. But he knew he'd never be rested, well-fed, or emotionally sound if he just let Duo have his way, let him tighten his own noose with a smile and a, "Oh, well, I screwed up." He'd never sleep another night without Duo's ghost lying next to him, the death of another person weighing down on his conscience and suffocating him while he slept.

The bohemian's stare didn't waste its time on him for long, seconds later he was staring off into space with that disgruntled-but-holding-it-back look Heero had never enjoyed being at the receiving end of. He blinked wearily. It was untrue that the world's weight rode on one's shoulders—it was like one angry gravity pulling him down, hoping to grind him in the dirt if it could. He let that sigh out tiredly and slumped a little in his chair. "Why don't you just tell me what I did to make you hate me, Duo? It'd be a lot easier on me."

"It's not my fault," the con man ground out, strained and almost shaky. "You should have just stayed there in the hotel, you should have gone back home where you should have been all along. You should have just listened to me in the car and you wouldn't be going through his now. I've given you all I can afford to give you, traveler—what more do you want? Now quit sucking my blood!"

Heero's eyes flickered and innocence returned, only this time in the form of hopelessness, and it cut Duo to a quick he'd never remembered having.

He continued, hoping to explain the guilt-inducing eyes away. "I just can'tI just—" Duo shut his eyes tightly and the stress lines came out to play. He wet his dry lips as if it could help him find the right words. "I just can't have you around anymore. You don't have to go back home, but you have to go."

He didn't open his eyes again, didn't sit up in his seat, and spoke no more after that. The silence was their only companion for what felt like a great while, human staring at Neko and Neko staring off into a far-off memory, until the unheard timer went off only a second later and Heero was asked to terminate his visit and leave.

At the time, he didn't recognize it as possibly the last time he'd ever see Duo, so he stood obediently, like he might have done so only a few days before all this had happened, and gave the bohemian one last look, still clutching the phone receiver to the side of his face. "Get something to eat," he reminded him firmly, before he letting the phone fall back on the jack. The loss of the sound of the traveler's breathing at Duo's end came with a quick, indifferent _click_,' and then he walked away, escorted out by the other non-descript guards. His footsteps echoed right, left, right, left, down the corridor leading to the outside long after the door had been shut and bolted, and he sat alone in a little metal chair.

When the blue-eyed _hienn_ on the other side of the looking glass was gone, Duo cracked his eyes open into the stark hundred-watt glare of the lights overhead. "Yeah," he breathed. "Ciao."

---

The third time walking through the Cinq PD was definitely the least enjoyable. The air fussed with speculations and accusations as the officers were currently discussing their unescorted guest as he passed by, on top of working noisily, phones ringing, keyboards clacking, papers shuffling, printers chugging. Not that he was paying any mind to any of them. His feet guided him toward the front door that would release him back into the arms of the city and into uncertainty, though his mind was already there and beyond. Heero was inevitably forced to replay the conversation again and again because it was becoming more and more absurd as he tried to grasp what had happened. He may have cracked some of the math that made Duo Maxwell's mind tick, but the equation that created it still eluded him. And it left him dead on his feet.

He felt like he'd kill for an aspirin by the time he was almost through the lobby and his hand was mere inches from the door handle. He really didn't expect to see one of Duo's guards walking quickly after, him waving to him and asking him politely to wait up for him, but he was.

Heero stopped at the door and the exhaustion that had been tailing him caught up. The urge to just pass out and never wake up again came a-knocking—he needed to straighten out his head and his weariness wasn't helping. He recognized the young officer as the one that had stood against the wall on Duo's side of the glass, and he was mildly curious to know what he could have done now, and why there was a little gray container clutched in his hand. He turned to face the man Duo knew only as Right Guard and asked politely, "Is there something I can do for you?"

The Right Guard stopped and offered him the small gray container he held, a modest, almost sheepish smile spread on his face. "Duo asked me bring you something," he said quietly, making sure no one would hear that he was doing a favor for the most rabidly talked about inmate in the PD. A few did, nonetheless, and they made suspicious faces for a moment before looking away and continuing with their work. Even when Heero gave him his own skeptical version of that look, more curious than anything, he still did not flinch, holding out the container. From inside came faint scratching and high-pitched squeaking.

He took the offered parcel and squinted at it discerningly.

"He also asked you to take good care of them. There's not much he can do for them, sitting in a cell all day," the Right Guard informed him—though it was all strange and cryptic to the traveler until he felt how the weight scrambled back and forth in the container and saw ripples of white fur through the air holes that had been punched into the plastic lid by what looked like a pair of feline teeth. He smiled again, though low murmured rumors began circulating around them even as they spoke. "Chow and Mein. Those are their names."

Heero was fairly certain that Duo had not come by a pair of lab mice scampering about in a corner of his cell, and the vague concept of the two arriving at his cell didn't bode well. He could easily guess what the intention had been when he'd been given the pair of rodents, and the humor in their names brought back a little memento of Duo Maxwell that hadn't been filled with slow-acting poison, a piece that had shared sunlight on a roof with him and smiled at the little rabbit's foot strung around his neck.

"Thanks," Heero said, staring off into space while he looked at the container.

"It's the least I could do—I mean, if no one's gonna help a guy out when he's down, then it might as well be me," the anonymous guard offered in return, smiling pleasantly. There were a few hints of black hanging beneath his eyes as well.

"Very true," he murmured faintly. Heero immediately shook off the deep thought that had overtaken him momentarily to extend his hand out, cradling the box of mice carefully under the other arm. "Thank you," he repeated sincerely, eyes glowing approvingly at the lack of bigotry in all he did. "I suppose you know mine, but I never got yours."

"Yeah," Right Guard agreed, slapping his own hand into the Japanese man's congenially. "Deputy Vega. It's been nice speaking with you in person." His brown eyes glittered unnaturally for a stony-faced guard, more like a ragtag sandlot boy who was complimenting the local teenage slugger for the ball he'd hit over the fence. It was a strange sort of admiration, but Heero didn't mind whatever would lift his spirits at this point. "You did a very honorable thing in my opinion, Mr. Yuy, and I'm just ashamed that more people couldn't have taken heart to what you said in that courtroom."

"Let's just hope it was enough people," Heero answered in all solemnity, shaking the guard's hand in return. The lingering weariness lifted momentarily. "You're a good man, Vega."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

"Keep an eye on him for me? Don't let him do anything stupid?" the traveler asked unexpectedly, as their hands formally parted. Normally, the vulnerable expression that seeped from those words and slowly came to infect his eyes with the same tragic appearance might have frightened another man, especially ones as unfamiliar as the tall, robust-built Chicano man and sleep-exhausted Japanese man standing in the lobby were, but Vega took heart to it.

"I'll see to it," he said, smiling reliably.

---

An undisclosed distance and short time later the Japanese man known as Heero Yuy could be seen taking a brisk walk up the rust-pocked, circling white-washed staircase leading up to a small, inexpensive room he'd rented in a very inconspicuous brick apartment building squeezed between two larger somewhere downtown. The rhythmic sounds of his sneakers scuffing against the metallic stairs echoed behind him endlessly until he came to the pinnacle of the rickety staircase and followed a vacant corridor down to the door at the end. Through the security cameras, the green, grainy image of the courteous but taciturn tenant could be seen on the displays in the lobby downstairs, over the engorged torso of the landlord lounging in the nearby chair, snoring soundly. Light gleamed off the rectangular glass object cradled beneath his arm, though the television monitoring the security system in the unnamed apartment building had seen better days and the image was obscured enough to keep the identity of that item concealed.

Should one have been following the newcomer to Floor 8, Room 2-1 the number 3 in the middle had long fallen off and been lost, they would have seen it was an aquarium with a box of rodent feed, a little white wheel, water bowl, and bag of shreddings stuffed inside. The traveler turn fugitive glanced once over his shoulder out of sheer routine before leaning the aquarium against the door, his hip acting as a brace, so that he could fish the key out of his pocket. Successfully digging it out, twisting it in the stubborn lock, and nudging the chipped wooden door open, he readjusted his grip on the glass cage and stepped inside to the cramped little apartment that had been his residence for the last few days. Once again, his blue eyes raked the empty corridor and once satisfied, he nudged the door shut behind him with a shoe.

He slid the locks shut in rapid succession, making sure the gold-chain and deadbolt would solidly serve their purpose. He'd needed them once before to keep away an unwanted Peacecraft, but now it would take a little more than just a lock or two to make certain they would not sniff him out again. It was wondrous that he'd slipped out of the Cinq PD three times without being detained long enough for Relena to pick up wind of his trail. In a way, the frenzy of Duo's trial had brought him that freedom, making sure all the attention of the officers had been focused on him, but he knew that the bohemian's life was never worth losing just to avoid his adoptive family.

Sickness threatened to drag him back into depression, at the thought of the con man who'd brought him here, to this cramped, ragged, cluttered drafty apartment with newspapers scattered wildly about, piled on the bed, the table, the erratic television, and the faint smell of past suicides that would not be remedied by any air freshener. The man who had opened his eyes with a cigarette in one hand and the other in a stranger's pocket, snatching out his wallet. Yes, he thought of it as a definite change for the better. The dust assaulted his eyes, the drafts haunted him at night, and the harsh static that came out of the TV's left channel had nearly deafened him, but it they were pains that came with freedom. Freedom that had never seemed fathomable in a fleabag hotel, in the grips of outrageous scandal and dismal odds, but was one of the best fucking sensations of his life.

Heero set the acquisitions down on the rumpled bed spread, beside the plastic container where the pair of white mice sat inside, cautiously poking their twitchy noses out of the breathing holes that had been poked by Duo's teeth while sitting in a dingy empty cell across town. Once he'd set up all that he'd purchased from a local pet shop, a modest glow came to his face in pride and he scooped Chow and Mein out of their former cramped prison and into their new playgrounds. He reveled secretly in watching them stretch their legs in the glass aquarium contentedly and sniff around curiously. The traveler smiled as he picked up the aquarium and set it on top of the dresser, the window beside it swimming with sunlight. Heero leaned against the wall beside the aquarium and his deep blue _hienn_ eyes glazed over in a simple bliss while freedom swelled silently in his chest.

And it would feel so much better when Duo had a piece of that freedom with him.

But at that same time, somewhere far from the undisclosed location where Heero stood and tapped at the glass, doused in nostalgia, his sister was not enjoying the same kind of euphoria. Instead of reveling in the simple joy of freedom, the looming, gray threat that had entered her mind the day Heero had thrown the deadbolt was coming heavily down on her again. It was clouding the air around her, and every breath she drew was filling her with more and more anxiety. The fact that the investigator who also occupied the same space of that awful humidity did not seem to notice it and therefore only fueled it was not making her day, either. At the moment, she was en route to the hospital to make another check on her father's condition in person—she'd grown tired of the phone trying to reassure her that her father was still alive. Sitting in the back of the motorcaded limousine had lost its appeal greatly since Heero had last ridden inside it, and Relena sat at the far side of the seat from the investigator, much like her brother had only days before.

He seemed so far off, so ghostlike—he almost hadn't felt like he was real. Like he was a stranger she'd found, somehow mistaking him for the adopted brother she'd been searching for. She had her legs crossed, like any decent Peacecraft lady, and her baby blue heels were tapping idly as she sighed out the window. His skin had been warm, but she still couldn't shake off the feeling that it had been cold under her fingertips. He'd been surreal, that she knew for sure, and now he was gone, untraceable and invisible. The Peacecraft daughter's cornflower blue eyes trailed along the side of the road, wondering if Heero had really died in the hotel room and his ghost had remained there for her to find.

Meanwhile, the investigator, identified as Marcella Lain, sat rattling off a summary of their progress thus far into the search for Heero Yuy.

"It's only a matter of time before we can begin to track down his spending and use it to trace him to his current residence. It's most likely he's set up camp in a hotel. As you know, he interrupted the Maxwell trial yesterday, but after being taken into custody by the police and pardoned by the judge himself, he vanished again. And today, reappeared again at the police station. It seems that he has a few admirers high up that have been greasing the wheels for his routine escapes. I have a man down at the station at this very moment questioning the officers who authorized his visit with Maxwell, Ms. Peacecraft. All the hotels are being scanned as well and put on watch for anyone matching Mr. Yuy's description. There's going to be random sweeps of all the lodging providers within in the city tonight. I believe we'll have narrowed his possible locations in a few hours, and we'll be moving into investigate by the evening, if all goes smoothly." She removed her professional glasses, disturbing a lock of her auburn hair from its strict bun. "But I have faith my crew will work efficiently."

Slowly, the blonde girl managed to collect her mind from the window and shake off her reprieve, but the sweet smile she saved for negations did not appear. "Duo Maxwell, correct? You said he was visiting him while in custody?" She did not really need the answer, but to repeat it out loud, making sure she'd heard correctly. "Then he—never mind what I say. I must quit rambling on," she said, touching her hand to her forehead and smoothing her bangs down absently.

"Don't worry. We will find your brother, Ms. Peacecraft, and I assure you, we will not harm him."

"He may struggle, though," Relena said distantly, remembering the image of the guards strewn about the room, black-eyed, groaning, and utterly surprised. "He may not cooperate. It seems he's trying to avoid being found very resolutely."

"Yes," the investigator chuckled good-humoredly. "It does seem that way. But it's unhealthy. We'll be able to find and protect him. He may not realize it, but the city has grown considerably more dangerous since the trial on your father's attempted assassination, and the threat is tripling everyday it drags on."

Almost oblivious to the last statement, too involved in a plot forming in her mind, Relena straightened up in her seat and asked politely, "Would it be possible for me to pay a visit to Duo Maxwell?"

"I assume you would want total confidentiality, correct, Ms. Peacecraft? I'm not sure how well secured Mr. Maxwell's cell would be at this moment. It may be too dangerous for you to even step foot outside anywhere near the Cinq PD, I'm afraid. There's been a mob of rioters swarming the place for the last few hours, and many more are gathering in other locations to protest as we speak," Ms. Lain explained calmly, her hands clasped in her lap upon an immaculately organized clipboard. "There've been many reports of serious injury—these people are not to be taken as simple protesters, they are very vehement Anti-Neko groups that do not advocate peaceful action as your family does, Ms. Peacecraft. They're going so far as to try and infiltrate the police department to kill Mr. Maxwell themselves."

"Rioters?" Relena asked incredulously. "Haven't they been put under some restraint? Surely the police are aware of this situation around the city as well."

The investigator, a picturesque levelheaded woman, folded her glasses and held them with the same grace as a highbred debutante. The vacant reassurance that filled her face tirelessly seemed to match that image. She certainly did not let anything faze her as she answered politely, "They are, but I'm afraid not much can be done at the moment. But I'd give them a few days before they blow over. The trial will be sentenced by then, anyway. The police force has been so occupied with just protecting the Cinq PD from intrusion by the Anti-Neko radicals that there's been no way to settle the other agitators around the city. I advise you to stay safely away from them, Ms. Peacecraft."

"I don't see any reason I should fear them so much to change my schedule. I want to speak with Duo Maxwell myself," Relena stated firmly, turning her even blue-eyed gaze towards the window again. But as the distinct feeling of cold began forming beneath her fingertips, she clasped her hands together and the tenacity in her eyes faded a shade. "If anyone can tell us where Heero has gone, it'll be him. At any rate, I should meet this infamous con man." She did not speak out loud the ending of that thought—The con man who'd turned her brother into a passionate ghost she hardly recognized.

Outside the sun crawled between skyscrapers, almost as if searching for something it had lost.

It was 5:47 PM on the eve of Duo Maxwell's sentencing and the Peacecraft attorney was currently shuffling his papers in his high-rise work office.

At roughly 7 o'clock, Heero Yuy could not ignore the cavernous growl in his stomach and pulled himself from the retreat of his unseen apartment to take a stroll towards a cheap restaurant, leaving the pair of mice he'd been tending all afternoon while scanning the news channels to curl up in their respective corners and doze. Door locked and corridor patrolled and empty and apartment building generally idle, he felt safe enough to venture back out into the open air, where his scent might be thrown on the wind to the hired Peacecraft noses that kept low to the ground. He'd taken the black baseball cap he'd bought and when he strolled inconspicuously into a noodle shop, he discovered a small wad of bills in his back pocket. While still sitting at the counter in a Asian restaurant, the bowl once filled with udon emptied and steam rising from the kitchen in back, he unfolded the money and recognized it as the change from the gas station one-day's drive outside Cinq. He rubbed the green paper between his fingers, silently heartbroken, and finally laid down some to pay his bill. He left with a heavy sigh and stepped back out into the streets at 7:44, when the sun had bent down to pick up the coins it had dropped and the sky was a light haze of lavender gray.

It was very peaceful, very serene, and the sunset seemed so simplistically beautiful and right to Heero, even with the smoke of the rioters' bon fires rising against the skyline.

At 8:15, Miss Relena Peacecraft bent down and kissed her father's forehead before he was wheeled off to be escorted to a more secure recovery home in the country. Somewhere far from the angered cries and assassins of the city. The sound of her mother's heels clicking away, along with many other guards, pushing her father echoed down the hallways in a wheelchair, growing fainter and fainter until they were like the sighs of a ghost. She jumped slightly when Pagan told her quietly that it was time to go, nodded sweetly, and followed him in the opposite direction to the back parking lot, where she slid into the back of a low-profile vehicle and rolled up the tinted window.

At 8:56 PM (which in reality was 9:01; his wristwatch was a little slow), Heero Yuy, incognito, strolled back onto his desired street after spending some time wandering through the parks at sunset, now that the lavender light had solidified into a hard shell of night dotted with stars. They glowed dimly tonight. Maybe because the air was filled with more smoke than usual tonight, Heero thought hazily, watching his sneaker feet led him back to his hiding place. He trudged back up to his room, shook the keys in the defective doorknob, and again made sure the corridor remained empty while he shut door behind him. He brought Chow and Mein a few cold noodles and they quickly went to work nibbling it down, huddled together.

Time trudged along, and brother and sister on opposite sides of the same city in turmoil were no more the wiser to the other's activities or locations. Only one of them cared where the other was at the moment, and that one was walking primly down a sterile white cement brick hallway, quickly approaching the first of a series of many barred doors that would need to be unlocked by the police officer escorting her. Nearing 10 o'clock, all the necessary paperwork had been filled out and the Peacecraft daughter was approaching Duo Maxwell's cell in her pair of baby blue heels.

Meanwhile, Heero Yuy sat on the flimsy twin-sized bed shoved up to the window, the muted television's colors playing across his face without a noise. The lab mice were curled up again, grooming themselves and dozing intermittently. The traveler leaned up against the windowsill and the cold glass, watching the globes of color and headlights scintillate across the city. He thought of ice cream, of his first day of school, of linear equations—anything but the bohemian. And inevitably, he did anyway.

"Come on, Duo," he whispered against the glass, fogging the glow of city lights with a sigh. "How much do you want me to suffer?"

When no one answered, thankfully, he lifted his head from the glass to glance back at the television screen, expectant of the aforementioned con man's face displayed across the screen. It wasn't—unless he'd recently starred in a car commercial. Preparing to roll over and fall into a dismal pantomime of sleep, Heero almost missed the dim figure moving toward the speck of cigarette burning pink that meant his landlord was having a good evening smoke. He was decked out in a formal, pressed suit, and followed by a pair of associates, one a woman in a tight bun and the other concealed by a dark hat. The point of this formation stopped and started speaking with the rotund man leaning against the doorway to the apartment building. Heero leaned back against the glass, pressing his forehead tight to the window to make the awkward angle so that he'd be able to see the two discussing. The landlord pinched the cigarette between his pasty fingers and lifted it away to jab up in the direction of Heero's window. The strange man's eyes followed and he saw his stone-set face staring up into his window.

That almost made him want to vomit.

While Heero scrambled frantically out of bed, violently kicking off the sheet and launching himself towards his jeans lying on the floor with a surprised, strangled grunt, the formation of investigators and one plainclothes officer moved inside the door, leaving the landlord to lackadaisically finish his cheap Newport. Eight meager floors separated them, and Heero cursed loudly, lopsidedly chucking on his jacket and throwing the backpack strap over his shoulder. Dashing across the room in his sock-clad feet, he remembered to throw the dead bolt and once he'd picked up the aquarium, he threw the dresser down across the door. He was panting, heart drumming and picking up speed, and fully filled with adrenaline. He'd almost missed it, in a sick way. The last time he'd been filled with such a rush, so much anxiety it'd been on the side of the road, staring at Duo in the moonlight, but this time it was more serious. He was not going to get caught, not now! Any other week than this one, any other day! But not now!

Heero ran back to the window where he'd sat in reverie for the last half hour, completely weighed down, backpack over his shoulder, aquarium under one arm, toeing his shoes on as his other arm clawed at the window lock. "Fuck you, fuck you, open!" he hissed, much more panicked than he'd realized. His head whipped around at the sound of the calm rapping at his door.

"Mr. Yuy?"

The elevator wasn't supposed to be fixed. They shouldn't have been here for another four minutes.

"Open, you fucking piece of shit!" Heero growled under his breath, which was a miracle because he felt his entire chest caving in on him, closing around his frantic lungs. "Just this one time, could things just go the way I plan?!" he muttered harshly when the rusty lock turned but the window proved to be jammed shut.

Again, that calm, inquiring rhythm returned, a decibel louder. One, two, three warning knocks. "Mr. Yuy, are you there?" The television glowed and danced like colored flame silently beside the fallen dresser blockading the door. The voice of the encroacher came again, this time subtly more forceful. "I would like you to open the door, Mr. Yuy. There are some important things we need to discuss."

His short fingernails ached from clawing at the rusty metal lock and his arm strained against the window stuck fast, stomping his foot in frustration as it refused to budge.

"Mr. Yuy, are you there?"

He wanted to scream, "No, I'm not!" and get them to leave him the hell alone, but to stop one hired by a Peacecraft was the equivalent of trying to sway the Secret Service to neglect their duties.

While his heartbeat took a straight ladder up into the lump in his throat, Heero was forced to toss the aquarium back down onto the rumpled bedspread to free his other arm. The glass case flopped safely down, rattling the wood shavings to fly and the two sleeping creatures inside to stir. A hazy black and white clip played on the news. The knock came again, insincerely asking permission to come inside, and Heero lunged back at the window frame with all his weight focused on forcing the window open, knuckles whitening and his heart cheering him on in a scream of beats from within the top of his throat. His entire body was lunging beneath the stubborn window, bending like a bamboo reed under too much pressure. As he opened his mouth to suck in a breath, his fingers burning red from exertion and knuckles bone white, the window groaned and relented and jumped a foot, exposing open air. Open air that led to a metal fire escape balcony.

Heero narrowed his eyes over his shoulder at the door, catching his flighty breath, while the sound of the landlord's daughter, and practical indentured servant, muttering something under her disinterested teenage breath and a distinct metallic jangle that could only be a delivered pair of keys. Another growl rolled out of him as he frustratedly slammed his palms under the window until it finally cooperated and was thrown completely open.

Knock, knock, knock.

"He's not answering, but he's there. We'll have to move quickly," the man behind the door whispered, rattling the key forcefully in the lock.

"Yes, it's obvious he's _not_ cooperating," the auburn-haired investigator Heero did not know muttered along side the other associate, eluding to the time she'd spent with Peacecraft's daughter that previous afternoon—something Heero was not aware of nor cared about as he lunged back and snatched up the aquarium under his arm and hurriedly climbed through the window frame. Moving quickly with a backpack and cradling a glass cage was not the easiest to do when your mind raced with adrenaline and your heart would not stop reminding you just how badly panicked you were.

The toe of his shoe caught on the windowsill as he passed through and he staggered toward the railing, but was already lunging down the winding staircases too quickly to register it, moving so fast the stream rising from his breath trailed behind him, rattling the sleeping rodents inside as he flew around another corner and down another flight of steep metal stairs. The sound of the door buckling loudly as it slammed against the dresser laid across it was fading into the haze of adrenaline and as Heero drew closer and closer to the bottom of the fire escape, his feet clamoring loudly on the rickety structure.

The landlord, who now was at the end of his Newport and just about to take a finishing draw while he mused vaguely on his future (what he would do tomorrow morning—glazed or powdered pastry twas the question), dimly turned his head toward the clattering noise descending toward the street. Like a disinterested cow, he simply grunted in acknowledgement as his newest tenant sprinted down the last flight on the fire escape. He slowly inhaled the last drag, hoping it'd last to serve as popcorn for his new found entertainment. The short, dark-haired kid had something hooked under his arm and distress etched in his face. Panting and gasping for breath out of sheer frenzy, his eyes ran dreadfully over the square hole in the floor that led to the sliding ladder at the end of the line. He knew it only reached so far, the landlord reveled grimily, he could tell from that gnarled-up face he made and he was deliberating how to jump down.

The landlord really didn't care whether he'd be paid—many a times the same situation had repeated itself. He smoked his cigarette until it was meaningless and let it drop, lifeless, to the cement and acquainted it with the toe of his shoe. If he'd chalked up all the times starched suits and police came walking up to his door and criminals had been chased out of his apartment building, well, he'd have a lot of chalk and not a lot of blackboard peeking through. Depended on the size of that blackboard though, he thought to himself as he strolled back inside, not bothering to finish the little drama show unfolding in the street.

Heero's momentum was enough to carry him through and he blindly gripped the aquarium tighter to his chest and hopped onto the sliding ladder with a fearful grunt of anticipation, knowing that the ladder would shoot out beneath him but doing it anyway. Duo owed him a lot for what he did for his sake—being afraid of heights, and all. He didn't acknowledge the splintering noise seven floors above as the door collapsed in over the boot of the third investigator and the locks ripped violently from their holdings and clattered to the floor. Only the horrible rhythm of the ladder clamoring and rattling beneath him bothered him much, and after a few seconds of what felt like horrible freefall, the ladder stuck fast and jolted him to the bone. Wasting no time, Heero's adrenaline made him let go of the rusted metal and he fell to the ground below. For a moment, his feet remained squarely planted on the cement, but the sheer momentum knocked him forward and he staggered onto his knees, still clutching the aquarium safely.

Heero groaned as he staggered back up, flushed red and white-knuckled, and started sprinting down the sidewalk with absolute abandon, one half-tied shoe flopping on his foot as he just ran like Duo had no tomorrow.

* * *

1 "Such is life." 


	22. Part 22 MOSCAS EN LA CASA

Part 22 MOSCAS EN LA CASA

While the three investigators were still a block from unearthing the traveler's cramped asylum, the youngest and most naïve of the Peacecraft offspring was only three more feet from beholding the image of the lawbreaker who'd taken a hold of her brother in one brief week and transmuted him into something she wasn't sure she recognized, or liked. Only time would tell what the con man had meant in doing so. And that time was, fortunately, at that moment. Her soft, feminine baby blue heels, something the concrete of the cell corridor had not seen for a long time, came to a rest just outside the bars of the last cell on the row, casting a stark gray shadow in the industrial lights. Outside, through the barred glass windows, the night was inky black and inside the cell itself shadow still remained, concealing the criminal enough to give him a chance for decent shut eye. Relena straightened up politely, her face pursed in careful consideration and her eyes reading something of apprehension, but not fear.

She did not fear men like these. She feared their strange misdeeds more than them themselves. Straightening her chin out proudly, she waited for the con man to acknowledge her presence and meanwhile her mind swam with questions. Questions that were filling her, much like they had her brother. Perhaps that was just one of Duo Maxwell's talents, to make those around him constantly question themselves, but meditation was not included in that long repertoire. The bohemian, the con man, the criminal, Maxwell's Demon, and the part-Nekonese, part-_hienn_ son of an Irish Catholic girl and a Nekonese Warrior sat in the center of the cell, where he'd been for most of his famed stay. His thin, sinewy legs were crossed, heel resting on opposite knee, forearms laid down on his knees, palms up, eyes closed, hair matted and brushed behind his ear, _ikkunnoi_ folded against his skull, his hands folded in his lap.

Relena squinted into the shadow while her eyes adjusted. Had she not been wary and suspicious, she might have missed the soft movements of the con man's lips, too soft for her hearing a prayer being repeated.

"Mr. Maxwell?" the woman's voice greeted in her sweet, gracious tone, sending the pensive silence that had hung over the cellblock for the longest time scampering back into the corners. "I would like to speak with you about my brother's whereabouts."

"Yadda-yadda," Duo grumbled distractedly. "I figured as much, ya know—otherwise why would _you_ be here?" Cloaked in the absence of light he found so comforting, the still, black figure of the con man did not move, aside from the constant hushed whispering from his lips that continued the prayer when they were not communicating his distinct attitudes. When he did not seem to answer the question or move at all in a way to acknowledge her, no diplomatic bow or nod, it seemed to stir up a dismal little fear in her chest—the one that feared the possibility that he was, indeed, only an uncivilized animal and there was the danger the bars wouldn't hold. She started a little as Duo finally spoke up and did not, as she feared, growl ravenously at her.

"Just hold your horses," the bohemian said, readjusting something clenched in his fist. His nostrils flared slightly, easily tracing a line of fear straight to the pristine young lady who stood outside his cell. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the difference in light between them, she could dimly make out his thumb rolling over a string of beads and his lips moving even more rapidly, his fingers moving meticulously from bead to bead.

Each new bead heard a shifting of tongue—he alternated languages from bead to bead, though spoken too softly for the _hienn_ to make out with her callow little ears. French followed Portuguese, which followed Mandarin and Spanish, which followed Arabic and Italian, and English followed Hunter's Nekonese. Though he really only had a grasp over a few languages, he had memorized the Hail Mary prayer in many different ones and kept shifting tongue to make sure his mind didn't start to wander to places it didn't need to be.

Eventually, his fingertips slid noiselessly to a glinting silver peace and his lips slowed eloquently, running his thumb over the embossed figure stretched across a tiny metal cross. Once this final prayer was uttered in his native Nekonese dialect, he somberly lowered his head, without another sound, and the gaunt frame of the bohemian stilled completely. For a brief moment, he remained completely motionless, a statue cast in the shadows where he had found the most peace, before his _ikkunnoi_ flattened in humility and he reached up with his right hand to cross himself reverently, the sanctified jewelry swinging rhythmically as he did so, wrapped around his wrist and over his thumb. A long, purging, unhappy sigh followed as silence came down again. This ritual was exceptionally wretched even in its piousness, for Duo Maxwell had only once before clenched this particular red-beaded rosary in his fist, and it had been while weeping and kneeling on a makeshift grave, dirt and dust covering his face and body.

His disheveled head remained bowed as he unraveled it from his palm and carefully hid it around his neck and pulled the collar of the orange jumpsuit up to conceal it. He sighed again, and finally lifted his head to look at the woman outside his cell. The sight of his cat-slit eyes dilated in the shadow startled her and the grim, unsmiling expression he wore gave her no ground. "Well, then," he said flatly, arching an eyebrow expectantly. "What did you want to discuss, Miss Peacecraft?"

Relena straightened up and absorbed her fears with a political face. "My brother, Heero—where is he?"

Duo snorted in morbid amusement and a lazy, insincere grin spread across his face. He bowed his head in a dark little chuckle before rolling it from side to side with feline elasticity, cracking his neck. "You know, I'm really sick of people knocking on my door lately to ask me redundant questions, just when I'm getting the hang of that meditation thing," he purred, giving her a smoky, wry look while slinking to his feet without use of his hands to stand him up. He rose up like a ghost and lurked closer to the bars until the barred shadows played on his face ominously, making that smile even more eerie. His fingers clasped around the bars and his long nails tapped against the metal. "But for you, I guess I can make an exception."

"Where is Heero?" Relena prompted, her sweet voice becoming nothing but business in the presence of Duo's sinister behavior. She was not afraid of his tousled hair, of his dark-ringed eyes of impossible color, of the feline appendage flattened against his head, or of the crack-lipped smile he wore. She feared his bestial strength she had glimpsed in the simple act of getting to his feet, and of turning it against her. But she didn't falter and stared back into his brooding eyes and devilish smile, one offsetting the other and constantly confusing her as to which held the true emotion.

"Off trying to save the world somewhere," Duo drawled. "If not, he might be feeling sorry for himself in some dingy little corner," he added cynically, even rolling his eyes.

Relena didn't appreciate the comment on her adoptive brother and a little suspicion arose immediately. "I won't need to bother you for long if you just answer my question. Where is he, Mr. Maxwell? If you know—"

"Yeah, right," the con man scoffed, leaning his shoulder against the bars. "Like I have any idea where he went, since I've been locked in here for the past forty-eight hours, just twiddling my fucking thumbs." He tossed up a hand absently and ended up shoving it into his pocket, fingering the ration of nicotine the Right Guard had snuck in for him anxiously.

He rolled his eyes again and this time refocused them on the wall with a sigh, scratching at the cigarettes hungrily and wondering how long he could ration them before another thought of the traveler plagued him and he could only remedy it by concentrating on smoking the fag all the way down to the filter as slowly as possible. He'd already lost interest in Relena—she was as agreeable and oblivious as he'd pictured, but with half the spunk he'd expected. Quite boring. His eyes flickered over to her dully as she spoke up again, straight as a rail and still perfectly poised on her powdery, baby blue heels.

"He came to see you yesterday, though," she said calmly, seeking corroboration. Her diction was flawless, her grammar precise and complimenting. Like a diplomacy machine, almost. He was impressed her face could remain so politic and gracious though fear was spilling off her like a bad Prada perfume, though none of that shone through onto his face, either.

"Yeah," Duo grunted lifelessly, peering through the bars at her with one cat-slit, violet eye before returning to staring into the shadowed ceiling, twiddling a cigarette hungrily at his hip between his fingers. He toyed with it and stuck it between his lips experimentally. "He did."

Relena stared back with the stubborn cornflower blue eyes she'd inherited from her grandfather, examining him, and asked, "Did he look well? How was he?" Her voice shifted from the cadence of a highly professional authority to one more suited to a tender, worrying sister and her eyes softened a little.

Duo snorted sullenly and took the cigarette back out of his lips, still torn whether to use one of his last ones up at a time like this, pinching it between his fingers and grimacing at it as he replied. "I dunno. Aside from pigheaded and too damn naïve for his own good, you mean? Well enough, I suppose. But things change. What I'm trying to tell you, lady," the con man said plainly, baring a canine tooth as he frowned, "is that I have no idea or care as to what Heero Yuy is doing right now or where he's doing it or who he's doing it _with_."

Like all good addicts, he finally remitted to his habit and let it counteract the woes of his life for him while he brooded, leaning back to strike the match in his pocket against the wall and light the cancer stick pinched between his lips.

Meanwhile, the young daughter of Senator Peacecraft retained her fabulous ramrod posture and the contempt in the criminal's voice had turned her face deliberate and cautious again, still femininely clutching her purse with both her hands and looking polar opposite of the one-eared Neko in her white attire and neatly cleaned face. She was prim, precise, and blissfully unaware of many of the horrific things in life. Duo was chemically dependent, disheveled, and knew all too well how unforgiving Lady Luck could be on a bad day. She was completely human and had never known any other culture than her own; Duo considered himself more Neko than anything, born and raised by a progressive Nekonese village in the north but baptized a Catholic by his mother.

The only way these two would have met would be because of their common link in one young Japanese man. Neither could picture a situation where they otherwise would have stopped to talk with each other or acknowledged each other, if they had not shared that one connective. And when Duo lit the cigarette to medicate his mind, Relena normally would have scrunched up her face despite herself and had no more to do with him, but she wanted to know just how someone could have stir Heero up as much as this con man had, how he could turn him into a phantasm she barely recognized. So she stayed fast, standing tall and straight, while the criminal on the other side of the bars slumped against them shapelessly, slinging an arm through and letting it hang in the air.

A billow of smoke escaped from his lips out into the corridor, twisting into nothingness between them. He was eyeing her carefully from beneath his ragged bangs and hunger-pale skin, and when he lifted his smoke from his mouth and let that arm rest on the bars, he asked her, "Does everybody just call you Relena?" When she squinted slightly, surprised by the seemingly irrelevant question, he clarified. "Your family. Do you have a nickname or something, or is it just, 'Relena'? It seems kind of stuffy, don'tcha think? What about your friends, what about Heero? Didn't he have pet name for you or something?"

"No, Heero isn't the kind for silly diminutives," she answered softly.

"Just a thought. But, basically, lady," Duo laid down casually between puffs of smoke, "I'm just wondering if I could call you 'Lena or something, because Relena just doesn't roll off my tongue. In fact, it's kind of burning my mouth, so if I'm gonna try to conduct a halfway decent conversation with you, I'll have to have something else to call you by, other than Relena Peacecraft. And I've been having a shitty week, so just indulge me—alright?"

"Well, um—alright," the fair-headed Peacecraft agreed tentatively. The brooding gleam in the violet eyes exposed in the light, contrasted sharply by the shadows he emerged from, had softened her defenses enough to agree automatically, without her overtly noticing that subtle change.

At her agreement, there was a sliver of a twisted smile sifting through to the surface and she caught a glimpse of it beyond the cigarette smoke and metal bars. Duo's fingers twisted around the filter close to his lips as and the burning stub reddened and glowed as he inhaled. He lifted it away from his mouth and let his wrist go limp again, strung out of the bars so that his fingers hung tiredly in the air and the cigarette was always in danger of falling to the floor. But the half-human, half-Nekonese hand, finely crosscut with various scars, of hard work, of violent fights and accidents, and fingernails rimmed thick with dirt and traces of gun grease, held on and it fumed without interruption.

"So, 'Lena," the one-eared Neko purred at her, wholly charming from ear to ear, "Are you daddy's little girl?"

The years of sheltered life may have made her soft, unaware of harsher things, and ignorant, but Relena could see the signs of contempt coming through to Duo Maxwell's surface as he smiled at her almost seductively, one eye exposed from shadow and glimmering a mesmerizing color of purple. Subtle hints of hatred were rising up in his fine face, becoming more and more clear the more his grin spread. It was stretching much farther than his façade of congeniality and exposing the dark things waiting behind it, directed at her. But she did not slouch, did not flinch, as would any good politician.

"I don't understand what you mean by that, Mr. Maxwell," she said neutrally, though Duo could smell the truth coming off her.

He cocked his head to one side, still pressed up against the bars, and chuckled, bringing the smoke up to his lips again, the additional light from the burning tip illuminating the expression in his eyes. He collaborated casually, neighborly, almost. "You must love your father to death. Are you his little girl? You know, his little ray of sunlight, his precious baby daughter, his pageant-winner, the meaning in his life?" Duo chuckled again, eyes deadlocked with hers and almost daring her to look away. "How're things with your pops, 'Lena? How is the old devil?"

"As fine as he can be," the girl replied succinctly, her eyes returning the threat in their own untouchable, distant way. "You should know. You tried to murder him, after all."

Duo laughed disturbingly, as if no one else was there, and his handsome eyes filled with ugly malice flickered amusedly up into shadows. "Oh, ho, ho. That's cold, 'Lena, that's _cold_."

"If you have no information of importance to offer me, Mr. Maxwell, I believe I should leave. You have many things to reflect on and very little time to do so. I have other urgent matters to see to, so this will be good night," the Peacecraft daughter offered neatly, plainly, straightening out her posture even more, if it were possible, and trying to present herself as a calm, collected woman in the face of the grinning, embittered criminal who taunted her with just his eyes. The physical posturing did nothing but make Duo laugh again, make him think of how much she reminded him of an imperious rooster, fluffing his feathers in the attempt to make himself appear larger than he was. To hide the fact she was a hapless chicken and he could easily be the fox licking his chops just outside her coop.

"You are _frigid_, 'Lena," the bohemian taunted, tapping the cigarette twice on the bars. Without warning, his haunting snicker could be heard floating from the shadows. He flicked his cigarette at her and a little arch of smoke and glowing ash flew from between the bars and landed before her baby blue heels. She automatically drew back, and her expression hardened unapologetically, watching the smoke fester off the cigarette on the floor and looking back up at him. He had leaned back into the shadow, and folded his arms smugly against his chest. The only visible part of his face was that disarming smile, his teeth shining in the light. "You can be as cold as an ice queen when you want, can't you? Must run in the family."

Another low, rolling laugh spilled out of him once again, and this time it had been one too many. While still wearing an unwelcoming face, Relena cautiously took a step back from the bars, making it as slight and inconspicuous as she could, now that she had had her time with the con man that had meant to take her father's life and found him much more intimidating than his small stature and charming round eyes would suggest at first glance.

"I'm sorry," she said curtly," but I think it's time that we said goodbye, Mr. Maxwell."

"Leaving so soon?" Duo purred, arching an eyebrow at her in forged curiosity. He shook his head, a saddened expression barely masking the sarcastic smirk twisting underneath. "That's a pity—it really is. I never had the chance to tell you how much I admire you, Miss Relena. And don't even get me _started_ on your father's _fine_ administration—oh, no. Can't say enough things about your dear father, though none of them are good."

She shot him a cold stare over her should after she turned toward the barred doors at the far end of the corridor, warning him. But it did nothing other than feed his sense of twisted malice. He was suddenly to the far-left side of his cell, further from Relena, staring at her through his bangs, through the bars, leaning against the wall. She hadn't heard a thing. His movements were so silent it was like there were two of him, and the other, equally intimidating personality had simply slunk back into the shadows, awaiting his next turn at the prey.

"Do you know what your father has done to me, Relena?" Duo asked huskily, the humor gone and only a severity left that was sharp to the ear. "Do you? Do you have any idea what demented horror your dear father is capable of when he puts his mind to it?"

"I suppose," Relena answered back in her own icy, unfriendly growl, "that it's about equal to what you're _capable_ of, Mr. Maxwell. And we all know you've been putting your mind to it." Her eyes dared him to look away in return—she, after all, was on the safe side of the bars. Her chin rose lifted disdainfully and she turned away from the criminal to begin walking back down the corridor, her heels echoing with a certain clipped scorning sound as well.

Duo slunk through the shadows on the other side, following her like a doppelganger with a pursing snarl. "I'm not a cold-blooded murderer like he is," he hissed, the shadows of the bars crossing his face eerily, spitting out the truth at her back as she continued to walk. "He's a sick fucking man who would slaughter a Neko as soon as look at him, order his men to pillage, rape, and destroy an entire village full of women and children alike. We were waiting for the husbands, the fathers to return when they marched in, Relena—we were cooking dinner and my sisters and brothers were making candles for Easter when they took that first shot and pinned my grandmother's brains to the wall. And there was no one to protect us, because the bodies of my father and all the rest were burning in a ravine somewhere, and your father put them there with his venomous snake of a tongue! I'm not the murderer here!"

The wall separating him from the next empty cell stopped him and his shoed feet scuffed loudly in the silence left behind after his harangue. Soon after could be heard the gentle sound of two heeled feet stopping as well, and eyes much like the Traveler's but very much different at the same time shot him full of daggers. Had they been real, he could have pulled one from each one of his eyes—Relena focused in on his unusually colored eyes to avoid her fear of him taking hold again.

"I love my father dearly, as much as you loved yours, Duo Maxwell, and I will continue to do so as long as I know and believe him to be a good-hearted man who loves me in return," she admonished him with a razor blade tongue. "I don't know who truly is to blame for all his, for your word is just as likely as my father's to be nothing but fabricated filth, but even after I do know the truth, I will still love him."

"What a darling you are," Duo snarled back, narrowing his eyes in a manner that would have sent wolves scampering. "But doesn't change the fact he's a hateful butcher of innocents, does it, sweetheart?"

Relena had turned to face the con man, but she had not given him the satisfaction of approaching the bars, of stooping to his level of impassioned abandon to chew him out in return. She remained safe in her icy stare and her rigid posture line.

"I admit, what you say is truly appalling, Duo—but my father is not the only one with blood on his hands," the girl reminded him pointedly, almost threateningly. "It would only take one crime—the assassination of my father, to satisfy your sense of revenge—if such a thing can be quenched, that is. But I don't think you deserve that vengeance. You call my father a loathsome human being when you hardly embody yourself what makes a respectable one! He may have killed your village, yes, but how many innocent lives have you manipulated, how many innocent people have you stolen from, tricked, deceived and lied, Duo Maxwell? How many people have found their accounts emptied and their pockets picked?" When only a low, hostile growl rolled out from between the bars, she narrowed her eyes. "Those are no allegations, either. Everyone knows that you've done those things.

"Nothing justifies all those crimes—not even murder. Did you commit them simply because you could?" While Duo's face contorted into pure poison, her voice reined itself in and her eyes darkened collectively. The hint of distaste in her voice was unmistakable. "I think you might have even enjoyed them."

The bohemian was bristling as fierce as hell now, and his fists clenched the bars until they groaned. "You're so fucking arrogant it makes my conscience burn," he hissed, eyes almost white with anger.

"Where was that conscience when you committed your first crime?" Relena rebuked coldly.

"Where was your father's compassion when my sister was gutted like trout?" he retorted instantaneously.

"How much did your victims have to suffer for your tragedy? How much of your hatred did you turn on them? How much would they have to endure loosing to make you feel better? A hundred or a thousand of their money?"

"What did any of my village ever do to threaten your lives? We lived peacefully apart from you, we fucking left alone, we never fucking even looked at you! What the hell did we do to deserve an execution order?!" Duo snapped. "Oh, please tell me, Daddy's precious little girl!" His fists crumpled the steel bars they grasped like paper and his white knuckles leaked tiny rivets of blood, leaning as far forward as he could to spit his words at her between the bent bars, twisting the angry lines in his face all the more. "Tell me what the _fuck_ did we did to you!"

"You're becoming rash," Relena reminded him evenly, schooling her face back into the pleasant politic charity it had been before, but her eyes were still as disgusted with him as they'd been moments before. "I do believe this visit should have been terminated long ago, Mr. Maxwell, and I would recommend you getting your rest. It was a pleasure to meet you," she said dryly, "and I hope some day we'll see each other again."

He curled back his lip and spat at her. "Lousy bitch," the one-eared Neko snarled, engulfed by his encompassing rage to much to see anything besides the Peacecraft, black, white, and blood red as he continued, baring a sneering grin. "No wonder he left you."

Her eyes flashed for a moment, but it was not enough to satisfy Duo. She closed up her face to outward showings of anger and became inaccessible again. Her dispassionate voice reached his ears, both human and feline.

"Good day, Mr. Maxwell," the young blonde woman bid him as civilly as she could, before her ridged posture and baby blue heels escorted themselves down the corridor and beyond the bolted metal doors that kept the con man locked in a cell circulating thick with his own seething rage.

Long after she had gone, he remained, and his hatred only grew in a frustrating, horrible beanstalk fed by his own mind, his fury set on loop. He remained there, standing, shaking, hands bleeding and blood running down the jagged edges of the bent steel. Duo Maxwell had finally succumbed to his hate and his frustration and despair, lost sight of his religion and surrender, and it'd been a fucking Peacecraft to break him down.

That was too much, not again, a wound too fresh.

So he whirled on the cement wall, sending his fist into it as hard as he could, imagining Relena's face, then Heero's. And he did it again, imagining that damned dejected look on the traveler's face, and again. But when he hesitated the fourth time, his actions caught up with him. His white knuckles were dark, bleeding red and felt like they had shattered inside his skin. He buckled to his knees in an agonizing burst of pain, slumping against the wall and cradling his knuckles deep into his stomach, gasping dumbly, eyes wide and mouth dry and shapeless. The pain circulated without relent, and his regret circled him like an ill-willed vulture. While alone in the dimness of his cell, he managed to roll over until his back pressed up against the wall and he sank to the floor, his legs splayed out before him with the twitching grace of a corpse.

Duo watched the split knuckles bleed and cradled his agonized hand with the other. Somehow, the anger was as quick to leave as it was to come, but it left like a slow disease and his bones ached hollowly. "Shit," he hissed, drawing his eyebrows together in a tight knot, a crease forming for each of his worries. Still clutching his abused hand, he tenderly flexed his fingers, each bone feeling like it had fractured while it bled. The familiar distant sting told him whatever damage had been done had already begun to knit itself together, thanks to his inhuman eugenics. He managed to fight off the pain enough to scoff at himself.

"I'll be damned if things find a way to get any worse," he whispered hoarsely. He meant it as simply a morbid joke, but the humor part didn't seem to find its way through. "But hell, 'course they will." He chuckled dryly. "_Micckhen suo im kube._"

He took out cigarette number two of a dwindling supply with that same bleeding hand, lit it with the other, and watched the blood go down his wrist, exhaling smoke and grief.

Long after she had gone and long after the man known as Vega had come in to give him the bible he requested, seen the bloody hand as he'd reached out for it, and had them wrapped up properly, he slumped down in the corner of his cell, took out his rosary with his good hand, and started another prayer. This time it was all in English, and he would barely remember any of it until he would awake the next morning, after dreaming of the traveler's sad face on the opposite side of the glass. Until his tranquil unconcern would come back to him and he could ignore himself again for a time.

---

"Multiple reports are coming in from places around Cinq of the Anti-Neko riots and protests caused by the events in the trial of Peacecraft vs. Maxwell—incidents of violence and rebellion against any suspected to be supportive of the defendant have been frequent and often tragic. Tonight, we confirm the death of two adults, one female and one male, who had allegedly verbally defended Maxwell while watching a broadcast in a local bar and verbally and physically threatened by others in the bar. They were accidentally killed while trying to avoid conflict and were involved in a car collision just outside After Hours Bar and Grill—"

The electronic drone of the broadcast voice being played over images of the bar, the mangled car, all painted with the flickering red glow of police sirens, made all of the information seem all the more distressing. Heero was too tired at the time to really feel that distress, too drained to do anything at the moment but stare at the large television display flickering overhead, advertisement boards and neon lights lit up in a vibrant main square. While the news continued in telling the many tales of horrible anger centered around the courthouse and the one-eared Neko tucked safely away inside a police cell, Heero sat on a lonesome bus-stop bench, a curious-looking sight with an aquarium with two white lab mice occupied the seat to his left and a backpack occupied the one to the right. As strange he might appear, the endless river of white headlights and red taillights streaming by did not stop, did not pay attention to one wearied man lounging on a bench late at night. The electronic marquee scrolling beneath the news declared silently the time was nearing midnight.

His eyes remained focused on the crystal screen displayed over the bustling center square. The light from it lit up the dark circles beneath those eyes, and the deep-set frown of worry that had not left since he had fled from an apartment window an hour before. He watched the video clip of a policeman buckling a malcontent rioter as he rushed the man standing outside the Cinq PD with a glazed stare, as it played over and over again for a masochistic public. He could almost feel his exhaustion pulling his eyes close with cold, heavy fingers while the midnight grew even more frigid and tried to crawl through his jacket.

He couldn't go on. _Not like this, at least_, was the hazy conclusion his sleep-deprived brain came to as the winds came up biting and strong. He groaned and rubbed his face with numb fingers. _Need to do something about it, can't sit here and do nothing._

The mice were shivering in the corner beneath a thin layer of shavings when the traveler stood up from the bench and shoveled his things back up into his arms with a certain quiet desolation. He walked away from the bustling, living stream of lights that composed the busy city streets that night and headed for a warm, lonesome light at the corner, housed inside a phonebooth. Once inside, he slid the door securely shut behind him with a cold, weary hand and set the aquarium containing two of his newest most valued possession so that the albino pair stirred from their bed and sniffed at the air. Heero leaned tiredly against the glass while he lifted the battered copy of the telephone book and flipped to the end of the directory.

With a sigh, he shoved his change into the slot and picked up the receiver to dial, his other thumb marking the number of one Roman M. Vega.

---

"Oh, here, lemme take that for you."

Before Heero could even make it to the front step, the door had swung open and the deputy had rushed out to him while still lopsidedly throwing a jacket over his shoulders. There was that momentary shock of seeing a person he so closely identified with the police uniform he'd seen him in, as the tan-skinned man stepped out dressed in a casual-fit pair of blue jeans and unremarkable white T-shirt and graciously took the aquarium with the shivering pair of mice off his hands. Heero was a little dazed after the weight had been lifted off him—his fingers were so numb he was surprised he'd been able to hold anything for as long as he had. Even after the taxi Vega had sent to pick him up had turned on the heat, they still were undefrosted after stepping out, twenty-some blocks later.

The off-duty guard chuckled welcomingly as he took Heero's load off his hands. "Man, you look like an icicle or something. Come inside before you catch hypothermia on me," he said, ushering the young Japanese man in through the open doorway into a glowing yellow foyer.

Heero was furiously rubbing his hands together as he walked up the steps in a mild, exhausted haze, hoping dimly that they hadn't been frostbitten while wandering the city, always worried the sound of footsteps behind him might have been the Peacecrafts, ready to try and pull him back under their wing, under their control. That it might have been Relena herself, with the face of a woman scorned. Roman Vega hurried up the steps behind his chilled guest and shut the door on the cold winds of 1 A.M. on the warmly lit foyer. Heero was not one to automatically make himself welcome in a foreign house and stood staring at the pairs of shoes lined up against the wall beneath the full coat rack.

Vega smiled at him, still holding the aquarium. "Looks like you're taking good care of them." he said. "Duo appreciates it more than you know."

Still nursing his icy hands, Heero only had a tired, blank expression to offer at the mention of the bohemian, but he managed to draw a worn smile in thanks. "It's alright," he murmured.

"Why don't you take off your shoes and come into the kitchen? I just got home a little while ago and started my dinner, actually, and there's plenty of soup left if you're hungry," the Chicano man offered good-naturedly, taking Heero's backpack from off the floor where he'd dropped it and going down the hall in his bare feet to set the aquarium down on a small table against the wall in the kitchen and put the backpack by a stairway near that table leading upstairs. The exhausted shell of a man that was Heero Yuy at this particular ungodly hour of the morning followed, running somewhat on autopilot. He dully realized he still had his left shoe hitching a ride on his foot and turned around to toe it off beside the other one.

He found himself shuffling into the kitchen a moment later, groaning as the heat returned to his fingers, to most of his tired body and reminding him that each nerve and joint sang with a horrible worn stress and his headache was catching a train to the center of his forehead at that very moment. Rubbing the heel of his palm once into his eye, trying to erase the dark circle hanging beneath it, he glanced over to the stove to see the grown man tending the pot on the stove, an opened can of Campbell's sitting off to the side. It was reassuring that some things could be constant to Heero—most men really were not chefs, and even he had resorted to premade meals himself on many nights. It wasn't enough to make him smile that night, and maybe he wouldn't have it in him to have a sense of humor for many days, but he could appreciate it even as he felt he might fall unconscious there in the middle of the kitchen.

"Are you sure I'm not inconveniencing you at all?" Heero asked again, squinting through sleep-blurry eyes. "I don't want to be a nuisance to you—"

"No, it's fine, really. It's an honor to be able to help," he said busily, already pulling a bowl down from a cupboard beside the stove. "Go ahead and sit down if you want some chicken noodle soup. It'll help you warm up, at least."

The weary Japanese man was about ready to give into the automatic polite decline that had been programmed into him over years and years of attending affluent functions in his parent's tow, but the thought of the bohemian sitting in a cold cement cell and him, here, in a warm, welcome house, made him see a few things in a brighter light. "Sure," he said, glancing over to the table on the other side of the kitchen, illuminated by a dimmed metal chandelier with three functioning bulbs and one that seemed only asleep.

Two women sat at the kitchen table, and from the looks of it and their accompanying coffee mugs, neither of them had been getting much sleep that night either. One, the taller and darker-haired of the two similar looking blondes, was wrapped up in a faded pink robe to cover her thin, silk pajamas and a pair of ratty-looking slippers that may have once been animals, but had lost both buttons and only the noses remained. Her face was drawn from what seemed like a routine bout of insomnia, it had that weary, resigned, but still generally optimistic glow to it that turned a smile towards him as he walked over to the table. The other woman had her nose stuck firmly in a thick, thin-paged book and her bare feet pressed against the rim of the table, each of her nails painted pristine black. He could not see her face, but she wasn't paying attention to him, like the other.

"Hi," the dishwater-blonde woman greeted warmly, her hands folding around the warm porcelain of her plain green coffee mug and a diamond catching the light momentarily on her hand. "How are you?"

Once he had settled down in to a chair around the polished table top, the friendliness in the stranger's eyes was a source of comfort that managed to coax the first honest chuckle out of him that day. "Depends on how I look at it, I guess," he offered with a small smile. "Right now, I'm doing better. Tomorrow's the difficult part to predict."

"Ah," she smiled in return, nursing the coffee cup against her lips again. She laughed a little as well, her wavy blonde hair gnarled from tossing and turning vainly in search of sleep, and he got a little joy out of seeing a little glitter of happiness in eyes that were almost as weary as his own. Almost. He knew she was not suffering the fear of losing the one she loved, because he was shuffling carefully over to the table with two bowls of steaming soup and a golden band catching the light around his finger as well.

Vega's almost innocent brown eyes swept back and forth from Heero to his obvious betrothed and he quickly introduced all those gathered around the table on that sleepless night, the eve of Duo Maxwell's sentencing. "Oh, sorry," he amended quickly, straightening up. "Mr. Yuy, this is my wife, Evelyn. Evelyn, this is Mr. Heero Yuy, and since he's got nowhere to stay, I offered to let him stay for tonight. Is that alright with you?"

"That's fine," said the woman who had been Evelyn Vega for over five years and an insomniac for much longer than that. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Yuy. You'll stay up for a bowl with Roman and I, won't you? It'd be nice to have someone else's opinion for once instead of the same conversations about not being able to fall asleep."

"Call me Heero, please, and yes, I think that I will."

Vega gave an approving glow to the exchange between his beloved and the man he'd come to newly admire and then turned his attention over to the other blonde woman at the table, the one who Heero would assume was the sister of the one he had just met from the similar hair color and skin tone. "And this is my sister-in-law, Dorothy Catalonia," he introduced, finally managing to pull her misty blue eyes from the printed lines of some war novel that vaguely rang a bell in the traveler's mind. Dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a halter top that displayed her snow pale skin and slim shoulders, she seemed almost fragile and porcelain, but as soon as they both made eye contact, Heero knew it was all very deceiving. She had some of the most precise, cunningly intelligent eyes he'd seen, but they were doused in a mysterious air that made them seem almost empty and blank. She smiled at Heero and tossed her long twist of blonde hair off her shoulder to reach over the table and offer a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Catalonia," Heero said, taking her hand in a firm, professional shake that contradicted her slender figure and complemented her decisive air.

"You too, Heero Yuy. I'm a little disappointed you don't recognize me, though."

While a steaming bowl of chicken noodle was placed in front of him and the police deputy took a seat next to Heero on the empty side of the table with his own, he glanced intermittently between the two. "You two know each other?" he asked, thumbing his spoon as he waited for a response.

Still the same sultry, darkly-confident woman that had strolled up to Duo Maxwell's cell with an intoxicating smell, she reclined back into her chair and removed her feet from the table politely, taking on that self-assured smile that pulled her eyes into such a way she almost looked like a creature of mythology. She chuckled, sliding her thumb between the pages she had last been reading, and rested the heavy book against her knee. "Well, obviously, I've heard of you, there's no one in the city who really hasn't," she explained, taking a sip from her coffee cup to lubricate that mystery in her voice, "but you probably didn't notice me. I was the one who fetched your criminal for you the day you came to visit him."

"Oh, yeah," Vega intoned, taking a spoonful of hot soup carefully into his mouth. "Forgot you were hanging around that day, Dorothy."

"Do you work at the police station?" Heero asked, his own bowl still neglected.

"Oh, no. That's Roman's job," Dorothy said with a chuckle. "But I have been spending some time there lately; what, with such an interesting inmate hanging around. And it's clear to see he draws an equally interesting crowd himself."

"I don't know how very interesting I must seem in comparison to Duo," Heero murmured in return, taking his first spoonful and feeling a little heat returning to his bone-cold fingers as he wrapped them around the bowl when not eating.

"It's a different interest, Heero Yuy, but yes, you are definitely just as interesting as Mr. Maxwell," Dorothy assured him. The table fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes before she sighed quietly to herself and spoke up again. "By the way, there's been a little something else that's been keeping my interest, but Duo won't speak a word of it to anyone. I'm sure Roman would like to know for sure, too. While you're here, I was wondering if you'd be so kind to indulge us and tell us about it."

The dark-skinned deputy made a curious face at the pale woman across the table and the almost michevious expression overtaking her face. He glanced over to the taciturn guest in the Vega household and back to her, still unable to grasp what she was implying. "Like what?"

Dorothy reveled in the controversy of her thought and even rolled it around her lips with a smirk for a moment before lifting one of her bold eyebrows at him. "What's your real relationship to Duo Maxwell?"

It was her sister, Evelyn, who was first to laugh, outright, at her sister's impudence. She had, after all, dealt with that same wicked curiosity and velvet tongue while she had powdered her nose for all her high school dates and dealt with all the prying questions that came when she snuck in with red decorating her neck. Mind you, it'd been her future husband many of those times, but it didn't quell any of Dorothy's pursuit of the worldly and her thirst for information. And she simply laughed and scoffed, "You just met the poor man! Don't put him under the spotlight like that! He might see just how meddlesome you are," and put her coffee cup back to her lips.

"Dorothy," Vega said disapprovingly, "You know what happened, just keep your nose out of other people's business for once."

The pale temptress's eyes flashed in a predatory way and she waved off her brother-in-law playfully. "Nonsense. I know as much as you do, and I'm just as curious as every other damn person in this city," she purred, turning those sky-blue eyes toward the slightly disgruntled Asian face staring back at her with an unreadable stare. "None of us really know what happened. And that's what's so interesting about you. You're the one book I've found, Mr. Heero Yuy, who has a little steel lock and no key. But you're an open book for the judge, aren't you? When it comes to that criminal, you'd cry your heart out. That notebook of yours, that's what I'd like to get my hands on. What a magnificent read it'd be. A book authored by a truly rare closed book."

Evelyn tossed her eyes a little at her sister's rich, histrionic speech. "I'm sorry, Heero. She's a harmless little inquisitive girl at heart, that's all. If you don't mind her, she might go back to playing with her dolls."

"I really don't think you should be bothering him, Dorothy, he's been having a hard few days, alright? Just—"

"What made them so difficult, then? What makes it so hard to look your kidnapper in the eye while he sits on the hot coals of a hung jury and just let him burn? Roman, you're dying to know as well. You can't stare into those beautiful sad eyes all day long and not wonder what really happened. You don't believe the word of the Peacecrafts, you never have. Everyone with half their sense can see the sad little jester wouldn't kidnap the son of the man he was planning to kill, he's far too moral and Christian for that—But it's not in Duo Maxwell's nature to kiss and tell, so to speak, so—"

"Come on, Dor! Lay off, already."

"Don't deny it, honesty is more noble than the most embellished lie—"

Heero finished the offered dinner quietly and when the argument shifted mainly between the two in-laws, he cleared his throat, put down the bowl with a silencing, soft, _tink_, and announced plainly, "You want to know what happened?"

Dorothy's almost pupil-less, creamy blue eyes turned to him again, almost purring with victorious pride. "If you'd be so kind to indulge me, yes," she answered cryptically, leaning back against the chair, her war novel resting patiently on her knees.

"If you want to know, go ask him yourself," Heero said flatly. When he stood up from the table, he left all the emotional casings that hid the extent of his exhaustion behind and all at the table could see the waking dead quality he had to his slumping frame. "You'll never find out the truth from any one but him because he's never given it to any one else and probably never will. You can try and find it, but even I'm still looking. And I'm pretty damned tired, so if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to go get some sleep. Thank you for the food, Roman." He nodded to the two women at the table politely even as the remainder of his energy scurried off and his eyelids drooped. "Evelyn, Dorothy, it's been nice to meet you."

While Vega and his wife quickly went through their duties as the homeowners and scrounged up a few blankest and pillows to fill up the couch for their guest, Dorothy remained as quaintly seated across the table with those calculating eyes the color of ice frozen beneath a clear blue sky, almost physically trying to pry within his thoughts wither her simple stare. Had Heero not been ready to sleep through the apocalypse at the time, he would appreciated the thought of how much he must have been alike to her to Duo, but he simply offered her one last drawn smile of courtesy before he found himself collapsing onto the sofa in the Vega's living room. He barely had the perseverance to thank Vega one more time as he accepted a pillow from him before he slumped over and was out cold as soon as he hit the cushions.

Sometime in the ridiculous hours of the morning, he awoke from a pitch-black world of ignorant bliss to blink his eyes open at the soft glowing light that had suddenly manifested in the kitchen. In the archway separating the tiled kitchen from the living room, was the unmistakable figure of Dorothy Catalonia, her thick novel tapping softly in debate on her hip and her long hair twisted up into a bun. Though his eyes were far too sensitive to the light to see anything but dark shapes, he could have sworn those pale blue eyes were almost glowing as she watched him. He heard her smirk with a soft chuckle.

"What time is it?" he grumbled, squinting at her as he sat up groggily.

"Very early," she purred. "Why don't you rest your head some more?"

"What time is it?" he snapped tersely in returned, narrowing his eyes at her. "I need to go to the courthouse very early for the trial, so just tell me what time it is."

"Not this early, you don't." Dorothy smirked and shifted her weight against the archway frame, casually flipping through a few musty pages of her novel, that infernal smirk ever present. Heero wondered what she could find so constantly amusing and wondered if he really wanted to know. He was too easily suckered in by that same kind of devilish smile, and falling for Duo had been a ride rough enough to last him for the rest of his life, thank you very much. The pale woman with the long flaxen hair returned his stare for the longest time until she finally chuckled and tilted her head to glance at the clock overlooking the stove. "Just before five," she said nonchalantly, "But you honestly expect to free the most nefarious criminal of our time on a mere four hours of sleep? Were I Duo, it wouldn't comfort me any to see my knight in shining armor falling asleep during his testimony."

"I'm going now," Heero announced silently, kicking off the blankets to the foot of the sofa and standing up, still dressed in the pair of jeans he'd worn the day before and scrounged around in his backpack for a fresh shirt. He really couldn't have cared less that Dorothy didn't move an inch from her relaxed pose against the archway, watching his bare back in the pale stove-light that illuminated the tranquil darkened household. He tossed a shirt carelessly over his shoulders while he started to fold the blankets he'd used out of pure courteous habit. "Tell Roman and his wife I appreciate all of their generosity and I whole-heartedly apologize for leaving without warning and not staying for breakfast. Tell them I'll find a way to repay their kindness once all of this is over."

"You sure you won't just bite the bullet when your little sticky-fingered heartbreaker goes to the chair?"

Heero was instantly coiled up, glaring over his shoulder, and his eyes threatened Dorothy with a painful death for such a remark and at the moment he was so stressed out he wouldn't have regretted the act for weeks to come. "You want to reconsider what you just said?" he asked tautly. "I'm not necessarily in the most patient of moods, Dorothy, and I'm not going to tolerate any more bullshit to be said about him."

"Thus you should get some more rest, because that's inevitable. He's made some very vocal enemies," the smirking Catalonia woman purred. "I'm so sorry about talking about your precious Duo. I just thought this would be the best time to discuss him, seeing how he's going to be gone so soon. Pity, he was such an interesting conversationalist even when he refused to talk."

Heero's eyes tried to burn through hers if it would just wipe that strange smirk off her face. "Are you one of those enemies?" he asked, his voice suddenly becoming like a knife blade raised at the ready.

"No, no," she laughed, waving her thick novel at him. "Of course not. I'm far too entranced by him, and you too, for that matter, to hate him at all. Don't expect me to behave like the rest of this pitiful city—as indignant as they are ignorant. They're too much like starved dogs, in my opinion, and your Duo simply has the misfortune of being the fresh meat at the wrong place, wrong time. Sooner or later they would have torn their teeth into something, and then here comes the injured beast limping up to their doorstep."

Heero scoffed as he noiselessly piled the blankets neatly at the foot of the sofa, smoothing the top layer down before turning around and facing the strange pale woman completely. "Well, all that matters is if you'll tell Roman what I've asked you," he muttered, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and preparing for a long, bone-draining trek back out into that world of starved dogs that he had to face. "Otherwise, I don't really care what you think—all that matters to me is proving Duo's the victim of a vicious cycle and that the Peacecrafts only have themselves to blame for all they've set in motion." As Heero brushed by the unmoving Dorothy, her eyes still giving off an eerie shine in the dimness from her wicked expression, he heard her whisper impishly.

"Oh, what a brave man you are, Atticus," she purred, arching one of her bold eyebrows at him and filling the one cold blue eye that followed him with a smoldering mischief. "But don't call Tom Robinson to the stand just yet; the Ewells are outside gathering with their guns."

He hesitated for a moment and the woman let out a rich, amused chuckle.

"One more thing before you depart, Heero Yuy. Is your relation to the noble line of Peacecrafts completely on the rocks now? I can't imagine they'd have the heart to invite you to another ballroom banquet after all this. Can't see how Miss Relena would be able to take that." That dark, rumbling purr of a mischievous voice seemed even more chilling the closer to it you came, and Heero stopped for a moment in his tracks, evaluating her face carefully and drawing his face into a neutral scowl.

"I guess not," he muttered.

"Well, it's nearly 5:03 by now. Better get going if you want to see the sour face of your precious again before he receives that sentence. Don't worry. I'll see to it Roman knows all of your sentiments and I guess I'll see you later where the paupers and the Rockefellers lie in equality, then," Dorothy whispered impishly, slinking off into the unlit mystery of the hallway. "Hurry now, knight in shining armor."

Once she had disappeared into the darkness and the faint sound of a door sliding shut echoed down the corridor, he turned toward the door and shook his head to himself. "That woman can be so damned vague, it's driving me insane," he grumbled as he opened the door onto a sleepy, drowsy Cinq street and his mind automatically began to race again as he watched the sun starting to rise on the day of Duo Maxwell's sentencing.

When that sunlight broke through a barred window overlooking the only occupied cell in a particular corridor of Cinq PD, it illuminated the image of Duo Maxwell sitting in the corner of his cell with a morning glow that seemed all too falsely favorable, the bandages wrapped around his fist stained the dull, dark maroon color of blood long dried. His hair was just as gnarled as it'd been the last time the traveler had seen him—he'd refused to brush it or even acknowledge it anymore; his mouth was dry and weak and his lips were split from frowning—he'd barely taken a drink of water; his skin was beginning to feel like a tightening shell over his bones as his body mass shriveled away—he had not eaten for days. But he was not weeping anymore and his rosary beads had been untouched for some time, so he wore a façade of nothingness, of a blank, conceded mind, which was not hard to fake at this point.

He showed a few signs of slippage, but only Vega might have noticed them from watching him so much and if only he'd been there at the moment. He did not sit in the center of the cell and close his eyes, unruffled by everything around him. Sitting with his back and protruding spine pressed against the cold cement and one knobby knee slung over the other leg, he tapped his foot to some unknown rhythm in his brain. He almost sickly enjoyed the hunger ripping through him, he felt like the skin tightening around his bones was a casement he was outgrowing and in death, he'd be free of all of it. Of hunger, of anger, of the traveler's damned sad face.

When that familiar formation of footsteps hailed from the end of the corridor, beckoning him from his cell, Duo chuckled to himself for no real reason and stood up, absently brushing a hand on his orange jumpsuit and keeping his cigarette pinched between his lips as he went to the bars expectantly. They'd be taking him to the courthouse holding cell about now. His two hands slung casually through the bars, staring at the untalkative, rather boring guards who took the morning shifts. He even tapped his toes to a beat while he waited for the door to be opened, waiting to get the inevitable over with.

"G'morning, boys," the criminal saluted breezily, fabricating a grin for their sakes. "We gonna be heading over in a good ol' motorcade or—"

Duo hesitated when he looked at the officers that had normally escorted him to and from the courthouse and caught a strong whiff of something in the air that suggested something was wrong, and it was definitely not the smoke curling off the end of his cigarette. No handcuffs today, either. The grin faded a bit, but the truthful frown beneath it all had yet to come to the surface. "What's up?"

"You're not going to be attending today, Mr. Maxwell."

"Ah, hell. I kind of have nothing else to do but lie and waste away in here, if you haven't noticed, gentlemen, so I don't see why not," the bohemian growled back. He'd be a little pissed if he couldn't attend the issuing of his own execution, and he didn't need any more regret weighing him down than he already had.

"Security reasons," an almost smug voice piped up, and Duo's feline ear snapped sharply toward it and flattened. Marcus Otto. He let out a shameless sneer at the man.

"Oh, don't worry, boys. I'll be able to protect you more than you will me, anyway," he drawled smugly, thrusting his hands out for the handcuffs, awaiting their move with an impenetrable grin, "So slap 'em on and let's get going."

"Sorry. You're staying here today. There have been too many threats and your presence would endanger many of the people attending the trial. Someone will be coming by to notify you of the results," informed the non-descript officer standing at the front of the pack, "eventually."

A few moments later, the bars could be heard grinding close on their half-rusted tracks and the massive lock being thrown over the last door that sealed the most volatile criminals in cell block three of the Cinq Police Department. The most dangerous criminal in that cell block, or rather, the only one, made a very unhappy scowl at their retreating back and scoffed with the dwindling cigarette pinched between those pouting lips. He tossed his hands up between the bars and retreated back into his cell, scoffing and rambling off mumbled lines of profanity in a bestial language none of the guards had ever heard.

---

In 1955 the headlines and photographs might have been stark black and white and on the corners they might have even been the cliché little boy heralding each passerby, waving a copy of the newspapers, the paper still hot from the presses between his fingertips. There might have been an older male, as well, with a booming, clever tongue, exclaiming the name of the infamous criminal for all to hear. The witty nickname, the scintillating character they'd made out of him, perhaps even the horrible pun they'd twisted into the handle that would echo forever in the history of Al Capones and Sons of Sam.

No matter what the secretly controversy-hungry public could think of, his true reputation was known only to a few soldiers who served under Peacecraft orders and done something horrible in the north and found a few ominous knives stabbed in the bedside table with a note from "Maxwell's Demon," years later and, of course, Heero Yuy. The latter of the two was currently walking briskly down a sidewalk in the bustling city, his head lifted high and his face set in determination but with a certain large opportunity for sorrow within him, too. Only when he when through those throngs of press and up those stairs, past the sore, resentful faces of the people who had once been his loving adoptive family, and into the battleground of his life, would that opportunity be realized or defeated.

In 1955 five others would have condemned him to Hell for the thoughts he had for that Maxwell's Demon, the inexhaustible need, the incapacitating worry—but this was not 1955.

This was the day of sentencing.

---

A/N

Been a long time, huh? Too long. Between the writer blocks and the family events the time just slips through the cracks, I know. And the other poor stories suffer because of any setbacks on this one, which I hate. I just looked back and noticed that I haven't updated MSMH in almost a month now and the end of Neko seems to be running away from me with its own ideas in mind. I'm gonna put my nose to the grindstone once I finish this and get back to Shini. Besides continuing to read and be as immensely supportive as you all have been, I'd like to ask you to wish me luck—I'm going for an interview Monday the 28th for a student foreign exchange program. I hope to God, to Buddha, to whatever! that I get a spot. So just think pretty thoughts or something, and here's hoping everybody else gets a break, too!

The title is _una buena canción_ by Shakira translating as "Flies in the House", and the last title is a Yardbirds' song I came across as a cover on the Pixies' B-sides CD, and there it was sung in Spanish, as well. I thought the first line was classic and I couldn't resist claiming it for my story: _Corazón diablo_. Anyone noticing a pattern there? All the chapters I never planned on writing, and trust me, I planned this one out, turn out Spanish one way or another. Promise the next chapter will be soon, promise!


	23. Part 23 THE WALKING MAN

Part 23 THE WALKING MAN

_But the cat came back, the very next day_

_They thought he was a goner_

_But the cat came back, the very next day_

_He just couldn't stay away_

_The man around the corner swore he'd kill the cat on sight. _

_He loaded up his shotgun with nails and dynamite_

_He waited and he waited for the cat to come around_

_Ninety-seven pieces of the man is all they found. _

_But the cat came back, the very next day_

_They thought he was a goner_

_But the cat came back, the very next day._

_He just couldn't stay away_

_Away, away, yea, yea, yea_

-- Excerpt from "The Cat Came Back", folk song by Harry S. Miller

By barely five minutes past seven in the morning the protestors had found their way back to the courthouse, toting their homemade signs promoting a conservative, good, _segregated_ America along with them en masse. At that time, the city of Cinq was still sleeping in the cool, drowsy grey warmth that proceeded the vibrant color painting of sunrise on the gleaming buildings, the masses of commuters, and, on this particular day, the indignant expression written across the face of each rioter shaking a rallying fist at the police station, each protestor now standing outside the blocked-off doors of the courthouse. It was a chill morning while the sun slept in beneath a high, smoky layer of clouds and only patches of bright orange sunlight peered through, giving the illusion light was being swallowed slowly by the haze. The streets continued to bustle with the usual lifeblood of cars passing this way and that, coffee shops opening up to drowsy workers, and teenagers loitering their Peace Commemoration holiday away on the street corners and in the parks.

Heero watched all this, across the street from the courthouse, without the same distant exhaustion he'd had before, the wounds of Duo's claws from pushing him away still fresh back then. But they'd scarred over a little and now everything seemed all the more electric and decisive—he could sense every second of Duo's life ticking away as he watched this man hail a taxicab, then that couple deliberate at a newsstand, then that woman dialing her cellphone as she navigated through the sidewalk crowds. The sense of time passing in such a substantial way was as painful as it was necessary, and it was what he would have to deal with if he wanted to spend any more of that fleeting time with the bohemian. He'd never felt this while he'd been back home, writing dully and walking the same sheltered path on the same quiet streets; he'd never had the distinct sensation of a noose tightening around him a little every second, the sensation of Duo's mortality and, now, the disturbing awareness his own. He'd never wondered before how'd he be able to live from one day to the next, or if he'd want to anymore, should something drastic happen. But he had thought of the possibility he wouldn't succeed and envisioned sickly how devastating it would be to turn on the television and find a headline declaring Duo Maxwell executed, dead and gone, and good riddance to him.

It hadn't been the most uplifting thought, either.

He moved forward with that sense of mortality pushing him along the ground, his head no longer in the despairing haze it'd been before, but painfully counting the seconds off, sharply aware of everything, of every disparaging word that floated over the din of voices. His shoes were turning tattered and worn, and the knees of his jeans had unraveled a little, and he pushed along through the crowd with his head held up almost completely unnoticed. The mass of people was completely dumfounding, to realize just how many had gotten up earlier to come chant damnation and curses upon a man than they would have had they gone to work that day. While signs bore their painted messages of bigotry and the arms of the people continued to wave them in the air, Heero Yuy nudged his way inconspicuously through the mass, his hands loose and ready at his side.

Past the lights and microphones and cameramen scattered through the crowd that hadn't made it in time to secure a spot inside, past the clusters of officers trying to police the crowd out of the street, past the middle-aged cheerleaders of hate as they opened up their mouth. To the tune of "Hey, no, we won't go," someone was chanting, "Maxwell, go to hell!" and somewhere in the crowd someone had started clapping along.

He moved through the crowd, and up and away from it. From overhead, perhaps from the viewpoint of the office workers, who stood at the windows on the twentieth, thirtieth floor, watching the crowd fill the entire street, cutting off traffic like a suffocating fist, you could see the figure of one man walking up the steps. He'd gotten through the police line holding the crowd back from rushing the doors with a nod to one of the officers and a reassuring hand on his shoulder in return. A few seconds later, a ripple of recognition went through the crowd and a low noise of disapproval came hurtling at Heero's back. They called him a traitor to the honorable line of Peacecrafts, an advocate of bestiality, and a criminal just as loathsome as Duo Maxwell himself, you hear?—as despicable as Maxwell's Demon himself! And the men at the edge of this crowd, held back by the police, began to taunt him. From somewhere someone threw a bottle at his feet and it burst against his heel with the inciting sound of shattering glass.

Heero kept walking.

Inside, the courthouse was seemingly just as chaotic as outside. All along the rim of the room the black hulks of cameras loomed, sleeping on their tripods while they waited and while their operators scrambled back and forth, coffee cups in hand and constantly stepping on other cameramen's toes. The seats were impossible to see through the masses of people occupying them in the relatively large courtroom and they were constantly shifting, moving, turning, talking, making it one ocean-like mass. The Peacecraft attorney, Mr. Monsett, could be talking with the rest of the Peacecraft family, assembled in a group near to the plaintiff desk, and discussing something cheerfully with Mrs. Peacecraft herself, while a pair of young nieces sat beside her and played with a doll one had taken with.

The oldest brother stood beside Mr. Monsett on the opposite side of the gate and listened quietly. Heero had rarely ever seen him in all the time he'd been taken care of by the Peacecraft family—he had already gone off to military school when Heero's parents had died and spent a few years overseas. Photographs and family stories were all that he'd ever heard of the eldest brother, aside from the day he'd been dragged along to his college graduation. He was the first to notice Heero's entrance and gave him a look, recognizing him very slowly and only from images from newscasts. His eyes followed him as he quietly took a seat and sat waiting, without a word, and then turned to the attorney with inaudible words on his lips.

A moment later Mr. Monsett's eyes found the disowned Peacecraft and gave him a professional smile that almost seemed to bid him good day and good luck trying anything. Sitting down on the defendant side, the Japanese man tried to ignore it for a few moments, before he impulsively turned his head toward the attorney. Heero gave him his best Duo impersonation and shot him a sneering grin to spite that expression off his face. It worked well enough to make the attorney pause uncertainly, very unprepared to see the sarcastic smile on such a normally stoic face, and turned back to chatting with the Peacecrafts on the other side of the room.

"My, that was a very unfriendly gesture," someone scolded playfully from behind, with a very musical lilt to her mischievous tone. "I didn't think you were capable of such hostility. You seemed so mild and soft most of the time, but you must truly have a little criminal in you, too. It appears war does bring out the best and the worst in the people."

Heero didn't need to turn his head to identify the voice and simply let a sigh go through his body, calming him as he asked plainly, "You know we're not in a war, Dorothy. We haven't been for over seventy-five years." He didn't turn to look at her, and the sound of her velvet laughter set to the tattoo of her shoes could be heard as she walked around the end of the pew were Heero sat and down the row a little ways to sit down calmly beside him.

She appeared as she had outside the bohemian's cell, hair tightly bound back into a precise ponytail an accenting her brows and glowing powder blue eyes, and straightened the hem of her business suit skirt once she had settled, sitting regally. Heero had only seen her in the dim illumination of Vega's kitchen, clad in nondescript sweats, but this image of Dorothy more accurately portrayed the cunning accuracy of her mind and tongue. She parted her lips with a little conspiratory laugh and a dark choice in lipstick color.

"Of course not. It just hasn't started yet," Dorothy said confidently, glancing over to him to meet his gaze.

"There will be no war," Heero replied, calculating with his eyes in return to hers which constantly seemed to sweeping him over, picking out flaws and strengths indiscriminately and smirking at each of them.

"If the Peacecrafts win, no." Her lips played softly into a smile as if he were so simply idealistic it was almost laughable.

Where the traveler normally would have made a face, perhaps a scowl or frown, he just leaned back into his seat and let it go, forcing himself not to let anything else crawl beneath his skin at a time like this. "What are you doing here anyway, Dorothy? And how did you get here before me?"

"Most people in this city drive, Heero Yuy. You're oddly one of the very few I've ever seen give the effort to actually walk somewhere. And to answer your other question, we're both here for the same reason. I may not be involved with the subject as you are, but I share a mutual interest in Maxwell's Demon with you." She arched an eyebrow and glanced over at him, noticing his stare remained on the side of her face. Mostly because it was the only way for him to completely block out the snippets of conversations directed at himself collecting from all corners of the room. "I am not here for personal reasons, though I would be, were I not already here for a few business affairs."

"And what would that be? Ambulance-chasing?" Heero drawled flatly. "Waiting for me to try and bite the bullet', Dorothy?"

"My, I never thought you were capable of such cynical humor, either. You must be spending too much time around Duo," she said with a laugh. "People say he's a bad influence, you must know."

"Know, and don't care," he answered curtly, but sharply enough to make sure anyone listening into his conversation would distinctly hear it. "They don't know him as I do, therefore they don't know what they're talking about when they try to patronize me. If there's any example that people are born hypocrites, it's them."

"You behave more and more like him with every word," Dorothy marveled quietly, simply giving a little sigh of admiration and slinging one of her legs over the other in a very poised manner. "You either must be really determined about your situation, or just so stubborn you won't change your course. From the way Duo spoke of you, I believe it's probably the latter of the two." She drummed her black-tipped fingers on her thigh after she folded her hands politely on it, her pale blue eyes positively glowing. She seemed highly entertained by everything Heero had to say and the disgruntled face he often made when he said it.

He snorted and turned his attention back towards the brightly illuminated front of the courthouse, the polish on the looming Judge's bench and witness stand gleaming especially radiantly and ominously that day. He did what had become natural to him lately when he found himself in precarious company: he asked a question and took the attention off himself. "What kind of business would send you here, Dorothy?"

"A special interest group," she answered vaguely, turning her eyes also towards the front of the crowded, clamorous room and watching the crisscrossing paths of the attorney and a few of the security guards. "They've asked me to do a little reconnaissance work, if you will, on your little troublemaker and I couldn't have missed the poor man's trial, now could I have?"

"He's not my troublemaker," Heero answered plainly, his weariness shining through his groomed appearance for a moment. "He's my ordeal, my tribulation."

The pale-skinned Catalonia woman smiled to herself with a soft purr. "What a way to prove oneself."

Again, Heero didn't exactly appreciate the direction in the conversation Dorothy's voice intoned and fended it off with his questioning. "And what purpose exactly does this reconnaissance work' of yours serve?"

"I'm afraid I'm not disposed to tell you that Heero Yuy. But I might reconsider if you would be so kind as to what purpose you believe that little notebook of _yours_ will serve here, during the mistrial of the century? As a final memoir, perhaps? Or a posthumous account of the finest criminal of our time? Tell me when I guess correctly."

He turned an unforgiving eye on her, staring harshly, almost daring her to challenge his word before he even spoke it. "Duo will not die, I'll make sure of it. He'll come through this alive and kicking like he always does."

This time she did not laugh glowingly, smirk knowingly, or even give that mischievous purring lilt to her voice, and turned solemn blue eyes to his own in return, almost pupil-less and vacant. "That'll depend mostly on you, then, Heero Yuy—won't it?"

* * *

"_Ti-i-i-ime_ _is on my side yes, it is_," sang the tragic mockingbird. Through the entire empty cellblock, the entire cold stone cavity that held the once untouchable, once elusive and free bohemian, the sound of the cheerless songbird echoed off the sterile whitewashed concrete. "_Ti-i-i-ime_ _is on my side—Oh, yes, it is."_

Slowly, the unanswered voice faded off into exhaustion and plain disinterest, as even the notes of the music that had before been his escape from the problematic life he led started to turn sour in his mouth and taste like little bits of his the corpse he was to become very soon.

Barefooted and boots kicked off into some corner—did it matter where anymore, really?—Duo shifted his weight forward in a tired slump, resting his forehead against the cold metal of the bars without concern that they were only nurturing the dull headache lurking low in his brain. It wasn't really a stir-crazy insanity just yet—he had to yet start babbling and scratching at the walls before he sunk to that particular low—but it was a madness of its own. The bars would only hold him if he wanted them to and undoubtedly ten or twenty minutes of tugging would have provided him a neat, bohemian-sized gap, but it wasn't the police force just down the corridor and through the door that kept him there; they posed no threat to him aside from a bullet wound or two that would heal in little under a single day. It was not a pair of handcuffs or a gun pointed at his head, it was his own goddamn conscience that made the bohemian dwell in imprisonment, until he would be dragged away to meet his maker. And he considered that being to be a very sick man, giving him such a strong dissenting, criminal inclination and then endowing him with a stonewalled conscience and watching him swing agonizingly between the two. Giving him the claws to kill with, and then the soft, bleeding heart to regret with.

Eight o'clock morning sunlight eventually made its way across the city of Cinq and, yes, even into the cell of the infamous Maxwell's Demon, and Duo wished he hadn't used up his stash of cigarettes so early on. Wonderful. He could count the minutes off oh-so-joyously now, like picking thorns out of his eyes, he thought sullenly, slinging his arms through the bar again and letting them fall limp and his face pinion between the steel bars. A long, lackluster sigh breezed up from the pit of his belly and he tiredly let it out, his eyelids drooping wearily. He curled back his lip unhappily, baring a canine.

"I know now there are definitely some things worse than sitting in a stuffy schoolroom," Duo grumbled, his feline ear flicking idly back and forth against the bars. "Hell, and this place. And lucky me, I'll get to see both of them."

_Click._

It took a moment for the far-off sound of a knob twisting on and the humming whine of a television heating up and voices from the screen coming through the speakers to make it through the bolted door at the end of the corridor, past the empty cells, and through Duo's overwhelming boredom and misery to his ears. And even then, he took a few seconds to actually recognize the noise. His _ikkunnoi_ flashed up at attention and he could feel the mild ache in the scar tissue where the other had once been attached that came occasionally, but barely paid it any attention as he lunged to the side of the cell nearest to the door, trying to hear more clearly. Distant, muffled sounds of chairs scraping, maybe being gathered around the television, and voices of officers melding together in an indecipherable babble frustrated him more than anything. He pressed his face against the bar, his Nekonese ear twitching out in the corridor, trying to pick up the electronic voices from the television nearly two hundred feet away, beyond a heavy, bolted door, and started hissing curses under his breath.

"Fucking _hienn_," he snapped, "Just break out the goddamn popcorn and shut up already! Can't hear a damn thing they're saying, and it's _my_ trial, for Christ's sakes!"

Then, in what seemed like the most impatient few seconds he'd ever experienced, the voices settled down and the tinny voice of the newscaster became faint, but comprehensible over the din, giving a quick narration of the scene outside the courthouse. Biting his lip, he craned against the wall, the steel metal bars that held him, almost holding his breath as he listened. So when he heard a doorknob noisily, obnoxiously clanking and twisting open on the opposite end of the corridor, he snapped his head toward the sound and gave it a venomous sneer, promising a violent and painful death. A low, visceral growl rolled out of his mouth at the sound of the footsteps drawing closer until a familiar scent finally came to him, easy to pick out between the dull smell of cement and white paint.

He flattened his ear cautiously as he watched the Right Guard, the man Heero Yuy knew as Vega, come to a halt just outside his cell. Automatic defense mechanisms told him to be wary anyway and he tensed himself out of instinct, taking a small step back away from the bars. His eyes, weighed down physically by dark circles and mentally by a wounded, broken pride, swept over the only deputy in the entire department he'd grown to trust, the one that wasn't supposed to arrive for his shift for another twelve hours.

His face was darkened with the traces of morning stubble and his dark hair was a little out of place. The fragrance of thick, black coffee was coming off him in droves and the jacket and pair of old jeans he wore made him look so much like an average _hienn_ in the morning that early in the morning that he was almost reluctant to recognize him. But the sympathetic brown eyes were the same and that was enough to make Duo loosen up a little, though he still stared bizarrely at him. Vega silently smiled at the criminal and shoved the keys he'd used to sneak in the back way before his shift into his pant pocket. Beneath his zipped up jacket there was an awkward lump that even Maxwell's Demon's heightened senses couldn't identify. Without the exchange of one word, Vega unzipped the beat up jacket and pulled out the small, boxy radio and stuck it between the bars.

Duo took it out of his hands without a second's thought, bit around the top of the antenna and pulled the radio to extend it, and started twisting the dial so furiously he might have unintentionally twisted it clean off if he hadn't found the news broadcast in a few seconds. The one-eared Neko remembered to breath sometime between hunkering down on the floor where the reception was best, turning the antenna back and forth, and hunching over the radio in absolute concentration. The tragic mockingbird sat with the tiny, almost dated radio crackling in his lap, the sounds from inside the distant Cinq Court of Law distorted but just as powerful coming from miles away over the wavelengths. It seemed so strange that the little tinny, artificial voices pouring from that radio could decide his fate in a deadly real way.

It was almost like an inescapable dream and the tragic mockingbird became lost in that dream, real or not, staring into the radio dial and almost into the courtroom itself, scanning the audience on bated breath.

The reporter's detailing voice hushed suddenly as the sound of a gavel took command over the noisy room.

"Good morning. Now, order, order—and please try and refrain from any picture taking, also. I will allow the cameras to be rolling at all times, but I request that every one please keep as quiet as possible. Now, Mr. Monsett, if you have anything else you would like to say before the prosecution rests, do it now, otherwise I'll announce the verdict and sentencing for Mr. Maxwell and this ordeal can be over and we can go home before things get out of hand outside, as you're all aware of, I'm sure"

The Peacecraft attorney folded his hands with assurance on the table, giving a companionable smile as he nodded a, "Yes, Your Honor," before standing up, displaying the finely groomed business suit he wore. "I'd like to call one final witness, but first would you care to tell us about your decision on Mr. Yuy's accusations?"

"Yes, well," the judge started, sagely adjusting his glasses while he seemingly squinted at some papers on his desk, "I decided to accept the manuscript he presented to this court two days ago, though it was presented in a very inappropriate manner, and since that time I've reviewed it many times over. I've also taken the time to view the video log he brought forth, and, keeping in mind this is an unprecedented case, I can see no reason they shouldn't be considered as relevant to this case and used to the defense of Mr. Maxwell. I understand that the circumstances do not provide Mr. Maxwell with the benefits of an American citizen in court, and in a normal situation I might have discarded the new evidence, but there indeed is some valuable insight in what Mr. Yuy presented, and this is no run of the mill trial, so I have taken it into careful consideration. So the prosecution must understand Mr. Maxwell now has an interesting argument for his defense. You may call your witness now, Mr. Monsett."

The attorney's eyes hardened a hair's breadth. He nodded despite it, still smiling pleasantly, and said graciously, "Yes, your Honor." His head turned back towards the overfull crowd, followed in turn by tens of cameras each sending live broadcasts to the public the image of the prim and neat attorney twisting to face them, and his eyes settled on one audience member at the end of one of the rows, his eyes matching his in return with an unreadable blue stare. Beside him sat the relatively unknown Catalonia woman, who smiled enigmatically when the attorney called out, "The prosecution calls Heero Yuy to the stand," and the Japanese man stood from his seat without hesitation. The heat of every gaze, of every glaring light bulb, of every scorning former family member in the room fell on him for one very heavy moment while he let out a slow breath, feeling the weight on his shoulder start digging in for the first real time. Meanwhile the silence made the ticking dual clock of mortality all the louder in his head.

Before he moved away from his seat, Dorothy tilted her head at the traveler with that same quiet smirk on her face, and whispered to him. "Remember, Heero Yuy, even the ordeals of ordinary men have their repercussions. What you do today will not be contained just in this room," she purred, only loudly enough to carry to the ears that she chose. "It will reverberate for years and years to come."

When he peered at her from the corner of her eye before moving, the grin widened inexplicably. "So do your best," she added with a furtive slight winking, almost taunting him on. He looked at her for another fraction of a second, warning her in no uncertain terms that if she threatened his attempt to save Duo or the con man himself in any way, he'd consider her equal to the Peacecrafts and deal with her as well. Dorothy got the message, and her wry grin only grew in response. He wasted no more time on her and turned back toward the aisle. As it did in all of the most important events of his life, Heero felt like he was moving in a slow eddy of time as he began to approach to the stand, like all the suspicions and bigoted thoughts had collected in the walkway like a quicksand sludge and the further he went, the more difficult it became to keep his calm.

If Heero Yuy could have been described in the past, during every gunshot being fired, every bounty hunter sending his boot into Duo's gut, during every assassination attempt and every investigator knocking on his door, as relatively collected and levelheaded, now he was as nervous as a caged bird. His heart was hammering without permission when he passed the point of no return. Once the gate swung shut behind him, the eyes of the judge and the attorney drew him forward, his motivation and his fear cheered him on, and every eye focused on his back shoved him forward as well until the man presenting the Bible obstructed his path. He stopped and put his hand obediently on it, while the courtroom reached an unimaginable level of silence.

It was almost like a movie, it felt that laughable cliché and surreal to be sworn in. It was almost like a movie, and he could almost feel a room full of scornful Ewell eyes burning on his back as he stared at the officer's face. "You solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you god?" he asked in a flat, disinterested drawl.

"I do," he parroted, and as he lifted his hand and the officer bid him to take a seat, Heero pinned a very pointed look into the face of the attorney waiting to sink his teeth into him, smiling only a few feet away. Once he had settled into the stand, with an empty glass sitting beside the microphone and currently the attention of the city of Cinq spotlighted almost completely on him, the trim, confident attorney moved in to begin testing the waters, snapping at the heels of his new target, the new prey to see whether it would startle or stand its ground. You could tell with a little perception, even as the polished shoes made a poised, assertive line to the witness stand, even as the practiced smile came to play, that Duo had taken a significant bite out of his poise and made him a little more fearful of seemingly harmless witnesses—though he hid it well.

A thick white pile of paper came out of the attorney's hand and he waved it slightly to show the audience behind him before it was flopped down in front of Heero. He glanced down at it for a minute, the lawyer's fingers still gripped around it, and shot him a pointed stare with a neutral face.

"Your Honor," Mr. Monsett opened pleasantly, smiling into the cold eyes of the traveler, "I too have reviewed the manuscript Heero Yuy here was kind enough to present to us." He turned to face the Judge, holding up the thick white copy of his manuscript like presenting a piece of evidence to a Roman senate and making sure with a rotation that all got a plain view of what he was talking about. Flirting to the cameras in a way Heero was sure only a young or arrogant lawyer might. "This manuscript, which I have come to discover was written in only little over a week and a half, supposedly contains enough evidence, my fellow citizens, to prove that Duo Maxwell does not deserve just and equivalent punishment for the assassination attempt he made on Senator Peacecraft nearly a week ago, and each of the hundreds, perhaps thousands of accounts of theft and fraud we have been simply able to identify and count as Maxwell's work. That each of those people affected by his thoroughly illicit nature and vindictive will should not be able to see the man responsible for robbing them, swindling them of their money earned in good, honest American businesses, for disparaging them for their hardwork with a single slight of hand. Your Honor, I hope you too can see this manuscript for exactly what it is—a college term paper written by an inexperienced young man, not a man who has seen the true nature of a criminal of Maxwell's proclivity, otherwise he would know that he is a incorrigible thief and has no grasp for moral behavior. It is good, I confess—powerful, well-thought out, definitely an interesting account of a strange circumstance, and there are a decent amount of errors and typos considering the speed at which it was written—but it is nothing on which one can base a due acquittal."

The attorney casually flipped through mass of pages and when he reached the end, he turned to face the young Japanese man sitting in the stand and the unpleasant glow in his eyes soon to overtake his entire face. "It might be worth an A to your professor, Mr. Yuy, but here in a court of law, I do believe the evidence you present should be more verifiable than just your own words. Do believe this is an honest defense of Mr. Maxwell's actions?"

If the expression "Looks can kill," were true, the one in Heero's eyes could have sent Mr. Monsett toppling over backwards, instantly dead, when he opened up his mouth to answer.

"I can't defend what he did because he doesn't deny anything that he did. You know that; he admits to everything you accuse him off, whether it is as serious as attempted murder or pick pocketing loose change. I can't defend those actions. They are crimes, and they were wrong," Heero returned, his impassive mouth and face betrayed by a pair of harsh eyes that were saved solely for the Peacecraft attorney standing before him.

"What I wanted to defend was his character," Heero continued. "I wanted everyone else to finally understand that no one is naturally incriminating. If you just look for it, there's a reason for everything. And if you had looked at Duo Maxwell and taken time to listen him, instead of looking at his pedigree and instantly stamping him with an execution order, you would have seen what I saw—he has a reason for this assassination, just like all the others. No one shoots a President just to test their accuracy, and Senator Peacecraft had done something equally brutal to Duo to earn his gun pointed at his head."

"Yes, yes," Mr. Monsett interrupted, thumbing lightly through to one of the small colored tabs marking certain passages in the manuscript, "that's one of the most interesting of the sections, I must say. I, as any truth respecting man, read it many times over and tried to decide for myself if it was factual." When he came near to the end, he flipped it open. "For the opening line of this particular section, you wrote: _The Peacecrafts only have themselves to blame in the end for starting this cycle and only have themselves to blame for what may happen when things take their natural course and that cycle completes itself_.' What is this mysterious cycle,' Mr. Yuy?"

"A cycle of murders that would only end with more killing, Mr. Monsett," Heero stated, drilling that fact into him with his stare. "Duo would probably tell the story of his family being slaughtered better than I could, seeing how he was the only one to survive it."

"Senator Peacecraft murdered Duo Maxwell's family?"

"Yes."

"Then where did this slaughter take place?"

"Duo's village."

"Pardon me, but could you give an answer that's a little less imprecise? I don't believe "Duo's Village" is written on a map anywhere."

"Nekos are semi-nomadic; it could have been any place within a large region."

"Uh-huh. Conveniently open-ended response, isn't it, Mr. Yuy? It doesn't allow a chance for being disproved."

"You're right. No, it doesn't, because it's the truth."

An amused chuckle rolled out of the Peacecraft attorney and from his stance leaning against the rail of the witness stand, manuscript open in hand and calculating what to counteract Heero's words with, a generic pleasant smile spread across his face to hid the gears turning. He lifted the stack of papers and tapped it again on the rail, almost subliminally trying to intimidate the hard-eyed traveler.

"And is there a scrap of evidence that can prove this happened? Because I have been allowed complete access to the files entailing all of Senator Peacecrafts political actions and personal memos, and nothing of the vicious caliber you are describing was found. How can you be so sure it wasn't someone else, and Mr. Maxwell simply fabricated this sob story to corrupt you, the Senator's son?"

"He said so."

"Did he tell you specifically that this event took place, and that he himself had done it?"

"I remember him bragging about it over dinner."

"I've spoken with the Peacecrafts myself about that dinner where this information was allegedly disclosed, and none of them remember hearing anything like that."

"Senator Peacecraft didn't know the real gory details of his work, you couldn't really unless you experienced it, and he wasn't about to spoil their appetites with tales of children being sliced open and burned alive," Heero explained flatly, still giving the attorney an unending loathing stare. "Besides, they could just be lying about it, couldn't they?"

"And what about you? Couldn't you be lying, also?"

"I'm not a politician—it doesn't come naturally to me to lie."

Monsett gave a scoffing laugh at the remark, outwardly not intimidated.

"Alright, how about another question, then? Can you tell me, Mr. Yuy, what happened to make two wrongs a right? How does—" Monsett began flipping through the pages until another marker stopped him a little ways past the last. "—being intruded upon, assaulted, and cruelly slain, by any horrible method you could image, give anyone the right to kill another to get their revenge? How do you overlook what Mr. Maxwell did because of what happened to him, when this incident may or may not even have taken place?"

"It shouldn't be held against Duo for trying to kill the man who issued the order to kill him and succeeded in killing his entire village, his entire world at such a young age, and doing so in sick, tortuous, ridiculing way. None of us, no human or Neko, could deny we'd be angry to lose loving parents and younger siblings and we'd all want to kill the person responsible for their horrible murders. Not all of us could go through it without losing hope and giving up, not all of us could be resourceful enough as Duo to actually make a chance at retribution so we all automatically label him a hateful, worthless being, a violent, mindless animal."

Heero wanted to look around the room to see if he had finally instilled a little realization in this ignorant city, this population that was as sheltered and unknowing as he had once been but was polluted by a distinct bigotry cultivated by myth, bloody legend, and careless rumor. But his glare had dug too deeply into the attorney smiling dully before him and it was infuriating, that expression.

"And he is not? A man who is half-beast and has stolen thousands or even millions of dollars from thousands of people through sham and thievery is not a hateful, and violent person?"

"He is not an animal, and he is not perfect," Heero hissed back, "but neither am I, and neither are you, Mr. Monsett, nor any one else. And especially not those who choose to continuously believe that a background can determine you a monster or determine you an automatic saint, no matter what you do."

"We're all familiar with the phrase, "No one is perfect," Mr. Yuy. And Mr. Maxwell, indeed is not perfect, and neither are you. His fault is his irreversible criminal nature and your foolish infatuation with such a being."

"That's not true," Heero growled, narrowing his eyes at the insinuations.

"You must be, otherwise why would you defend a man you admit is a criminal, who he himself admits he's guilty of all charges?"

"Because I don't think Duo deserves the punishment you want to give him, he was doing what was right to him and if you saw it from his point of view, you'd agree with him—I think that if there's any good in the general people they'd be willing to give him a second chance, an opportunity to redemption."

"And why is that? Because you say Peacecraft ruined his life?"

"There were once a people similar to Senator Peacecraft, who believed that a certain heritage or affiliation with those of that heritage made you a second-class human being, of an inferior race, and they took actions to hunt down and exterminate those inferior to themselves in methods as cruel as the ones taken by Senator Peacecraft's soldiers, at his orders. I think everyone of us here knows what group I'm talking about."

"Are you accusing the Senator, the man who adopted you when your parents passed away, took you under his wing, and funded your college education, of being a Nazi?"

"No, not of being one, of behaving like one. What else is there to describe a person who selectively kills a certain race of people in such a cold-blooded, unremorseful way? Orders his men to kill every woman and child? What do you call a man would slaughter a village of Nekos and human beings who'd lived quietly to themselves until that point just for associating with each other?"

"You used to call that man your father, Mr. Yuy. Did you like him?"

"Before I met Duo, yes, he seemed like a decent, good-hearted pacifist. I liked him. He took me in, so there wasn't much of a choice if I wanted to get along."

"And did you get along with Senator Peacecraft?"

"Yes."

"You never had father and son scrabbles, not one fight, not even as a teenager trying to assert your individuality?"

"I never showed much individuality until two weeks or so ago," Heero answered a little grimly. "But no, we never had any big disagreements."

"So, there's no chance that this whole farce of alleged slaughters and brutality couldn't have been a fiction fabricated to give you a reason to hire Maxwell to shoot Peacecraft because of an ill will toward him?"

"Absolutely not."

"Maxwell never displayed signs, in his crime patterns or few notes to police or words to his victims or anything, for that matter, of actually targeting the Senator. Only when you had been in his presence did he actually go after Peacecrafts. Very easily it could have been you who wanted him to be shot, and everyone knows you had access to the Peacecraft funds as their son—you could have paid Maxwell any imaginable amount for his services, so it's not inconceivable."

"Though it's nothing but invented crap, Mr. Monsett," he retorted with a little smile, "it is hypothetically probable. But there's only one problem—if I had hired Duo to try to kill my father, do you think I'd be here, trying to defend him? Doing that would only increase suspicions and possibly unearth my scheme and earn me a cell beside Duo. I may still be a little naïve and I'm no strategist, but even I can see how foolish an action that would be."

The attorney smiled at the traveler with that same serpentine charm before he sauntered casually back to the plaintiff bench and set the manuscript on the table beside several other stacks of paper and his assistant sitting there with a yellow legal pad in hand. "You're right, Mr. Yuy, and it probably disproves that theory, but it also segways to my next point." He lifted a small blank black cassette tape from beside where he placed the copy of his manuscript, displaying the new evidence in the same showy manner he'd done before, the same mocking smile spread like a visible poison on his face. Turning quietly to his assistant, he asked him to roll in the television and once it had been put in place, a location where nearly all of the court could see, the Judge took off his glasses, leaned forward, and told the Peacecraft attorney to continue. The tape cassette was drawn into the jaws of the VCR with the sounds of teeth descending on it and starting to twist the reels inside, and a picture hissed to life on the screen. The copied tape was frothed with distortion and snow at the edges, crackling for a few moments before the silent image cleared.

"I was also given a copy of the video log you presented to the Judge, and reviewed it at length." He began to make a long sauntering pace back and forth before the audience, folding his hands behind his back and, for once, reigning in his flaunting gestures. "And I found once incident of interest that I will now show to you." He smirked and turned it for a second back on the traveler. "Come to your own conclusions, ladies and gentlemen," he said to the audience, Heero the only one privy to the smugness in his voice.

— The tragic mockingbird, sitting what seemed like almost an impossible ways away from the courtroom, felt those distinctive dreading knots forming in his stomach. Even though he could not see the television screen brightening and the image clearing up, he knew what it had to be, and he knew the traveler knew, probably with almost equal dread. "Shit," was all needed to summarize the situation, and the sound carried through the bare walls. —

"This occurred the night before the assassination attempt made on Senator Peacecraft, sometime around one A.M."

And so, with the collective eyes of the city and many, many more around the country watching, Heero was forced to relive the last night in the Isuzu, this time watching a slightly bleary view from the above the windshield and watching himself eventually stir and pause, staring down at Duo, who was sprawled over the front seat, seemingly in deep sleep. He had to relive it again, from the eye of a cold mechanical camera, and every eye that was on him was witnessing it as well, peering into a confusing, painful memory with their unwelcome attention. It was a horrible, surreal sensation to watch his own slightly blurred image lean over the seat and the bohemian twitch abruptly back to life, lashing out and snatching his wrist while his baseball hat fell into his lap and his secret falling into the light with it. Again, that harrowing moment, and now he could look back on it and see himself for the idiot he'd been; how naïve he must have been to miss something so vital and not even suspect it, how bewitched he must have been by that smile and disturbed by the violence he was capable of. What a fool.

From the safe distance of the camera he now watched the Duo's shoulders droop dishearteningly in a sigh and a few long seconds later he climbed into the front seat, staring dumbly, stunned.

And when the court watched Duo reach up and touch the back of his neck, the expression of sadness not accurately translated by the video screen and the hidden agenda hidden in the form of a drugged needle in his hand, and kiss him, they gave a collective gasp or scornful noise. Heero was no longer in that courtroom for a second, watching this incriminating clip with them, but he felt the rough fabric of the seat beneath him, a silence of night around him, and the bohemian against him. He could still remember how it had felt when his world had shifted with a sharp jab, a step up from the rapid unearthing it'd been taking over the time spent with the con man, and how his head had literally spun when Duo pulled away, giving him a contradicting sad grin.

But that's where Heero's emotional narrative ended, and it had just been black after that. The video log peered down all the while and when he had fallen unconscious to the tranquilizer drug Duo had favored so much, it had captured what Heero had not been awake to see. He watched his body go boneless and slump into Duo's arms as if shot dead through the back of the head with a certain surreal effect and a strangled pang in his chest. A heaving sigh left the blurred figure of the bohemian as he let himself slump against the window again, and while Heero watched himself lie unconscious, a lifeless mass cradled to a criminal's chest, Duo lifted the needle up into the light to frown at it, sigh again, and toss it to the floor. It was fortunate for him that the crowd made a low, noticeable sound a second later, to mask the stifled groan Heero almost let escape.

He watched Duo lay there for a moment, hesitating unnaturally with Heero's sleeping form, then reach up with a hand and cautiously brush a bit of hair from his face, exercising a shyness and tenderness that was strange to watch. He watched him lift his hand and do it again, letting his fingers trail over his jaw and trace over the edges of his _hienn_ ear. He watched him and felt the fire on his skin as if he were experiencing it again, felt an impossible emotion rush him. He watched him use the hand of brutal, animalistic strength he'd used to kill angrily to gently turn Heero's head so that his cheek pressed against his chest, so slowly as if he might break him. For a few more agonizingly drawn-out seconds, he watched him tenderly touch his fingers over his own sleeping eyes, face, and lips, memorizing them tragically. Duo nestled the limp body of the traveler to him and nudged his foot back onto the seat with his leg when it slipped off, and put his arms around his back solemnly, burying his rueful frown into the top of his disheveled hair and trying to keep his emotions from breaking the wall that held them back. Even as emotion began rattling Heero thoroughly, shaking him in the witness stand, he glimpsed a little twitch of the bohemian's shoulders that may have been a trick of the light or the camera but looked dreadfully like a choked, unwanted sob to him.

He hated watching this.

Mr. Monsett's addressing voice cracked the air, bustling busy with the speculation, scorning, and fussing that came from the audience once they realized they'd just seen the son of the renowned, respected Senator Peacecraft kissing the infamous criminal miscreant that had terrorized the nation lately with his insidious cons. And just how immense it was to the issue of Heero's integrity, and how easily it could help solidify that guilty verdict that threatened Duo with a death sentence. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I understand this is evidence may be distasteful, but please keep your restraint. It's very necessary to the validity of Mr. Yuy's case in Mr. Maxwell's defense." He used the remote his assistant had handed him to shamelessly pause the tape on the scandalous frame, strolling casually back up toward the stand once he put it down on the table.

Heero's eyes had a death threat awaiting the attorney when looked at him again, smiling so smugly it might have never left his face. "Now, if you'd please answer one more question, Mr. Yuy."

The glare didn't flinch. "Yes, sir," he ground out, holding his mouth back from a severe scowl as to not let the crowd see his anger. Anger that the Peacecraft attorney had the sheer gall to provoke him with such a clip and then ask nothing but civil cooperation with him a second later. Anger he'd stoop to such a shameless tactic, and anger at the pride with which he exploited that tactic, still sauntering casually up to the stand, feeling as if the case was tucked safely away in his pocket, already won.

"Are you or are you not infatuated with Mr. Maxwell?"

* * *

Miles from the courtroom, Vega was startled to stand straight against the wall when he heard the boxy little radio clatter roughly over the floor and take a devastating crash into the wall where the bunkbeds had been ripped from the wall and removed. Tiny fractured bits of black and grey plastic scattered back across the floor to come full circle and skitter to a stop before the tragic mockingbird, dispersing in front of the being that had created them, and the radio, half-broken and now hissing incoherently with static, lay as good as dead on the cement floor. The human deputy was a little unnerved—he'd only been able to see a brief flash of movement before Duo had flung the radio away from him with such disgust, unable to stand another utterance from the Peacecraft attorney's lying tongue. And when he jerked to his feet, all fists and nerves, he was moving faster, more fluidly than any _hienn_ could imagine, moving with the coiled, prowling heritage in him and the contempt in his head. He snarled something hateful at the radio, at Monsett, in his north Nekonese dialect, slurring him ruthlessly. Instead of flinging the radio against the wall again, he slapped the palm of his bandaged hand against the wall and promptly started to claw two-foot long lacerations into the cement with one motion of his hand. He grunted fiercely as it went down and chalky white dust polluted the air. When he quit, blood started seeping out from the soft human fingertips beneath the sharp Nekoknese nail and down the wall.

From all his hissing, all his cursing he growled at the wall, imagining each face of the Peacecrafts painted on it, sneering at him, Vega could distinguish one prominent phrase again and again: "_Ru eiym jaihirou vennes no-dymekke ce ri, hiennrou aisuhei. Aisurou!" _1

While the battered radio sputtered to death on nothing but static and gargled noise, Duo curled his bleeding hand back into a fist and pressed it against the wall, letting his forehead fall against the cement. The walls echoed with the eerie, hollow sound of a machine dying for a long time, and silence lay beneath it, and slowly the one-eared Neko managed to calm himself enough to speak again, his throat dry and almost brittle from lack of water and his lungs weak over a failing stomach.

"Sorry about the radio," he muttered miserably in the direction of the human deputy, the puff of air from his lips blowing a knotted bit of hair from his face. "Sorry I can't pay for it, either. Fucking sorry for all of it." The tragic mockingbird had broken his wing against his cage, and, unlike most mindless birds, he knew in no indistinct terms that there would be no kindhearted caretaker to mend it. He knew it had all been lost from the beginning, and whatever foolish optimism he'd formed since then had just been dashed on the rocks, on the gilded bars of his cage.

Vega forgave him quietly, politely, and sensed that he needed time alone. So the footsteps of the _hienn_ disappeared down the hall and the radio died and the distant murmurs of a television returned to haunt the only occupied cell. Duo blindly wandered back to a corner and slumped down to the floor in the way he'd done many times while in that cell, watching the sunrays illuminate dust on the ceiling overhead, the rosary beads around his neck suddenly cold as a corpse and as heavy as sin on his skin.

"You fucking fool, traveler," he muttered, closing his eyes. He let a long sigh run through him again, try in vain to scoop out the thick layers of dismay that had caked into the lining of his lungs, and in the end he only felt as hollow as before, letting his head tilt back and feeling sensations of pain and hunger return to him while his fingers knitted themselves, while his wounds licked themselves. After a long silence, the mockingbird's voice returned, but at only a whisper. "Fucking fool. Sometimes I wonder who the _real_ fool is anymore."

Had the radio not been demolished in a fit of frustration, it would have broadcast the tense warring dialogue that continued between witness and counselor.

* * *

"Please answer the question, Mr. Yuy."

"It's a rather personal question that holds no relevance to this case," the witness overthrew coldly, icing over all of the emotion that troubled him with the anger that drove him. "I'd rather not."

"You're not one bit attracted to this young man? I have to admit, even though he is not a complete human being, he's a very striking face and if you can get around the murderous temperament, he would make for a very charming character. Certainly no lady could resist those kinds of charms, and maybe even a few of the men as well. I wouldn't doubt that Mr. Maxwell has enough persuasion to entice those of loose morals to aid him in his crimes, perhaps even defend him in a court of law if need be. So, are you attracted to Maxwell, Mr. Yuy?"

"Since when did this court become the Dating Game to you, Mr. Monsett?"

"Please, let me ask the questions. We don't want to waste His Honor's time on foolish conversation."

"Which brings us again to why such a question holds any meaning to an _assassination_ case, Mr. Monsett."

"It's a very simple question. All I require is a yes or a no and we can move on."

"I refuse to answer such a ridiculous question. If you'll just ask a more appropriate one, I'd be more than happy too," he returned, his voice tightening like a razor wire, a wire he would like to imagine wrapped around the attorney's throat at that moment

"You were sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but that truth not even an hour ago, need I remind you? So please, allow us to get on with this hearing and answer the question, Mr. Yuy."

"I refuse, then," he almost growled, "on the grounds I may incriminate myself or the defendant."

Mr. Monsett gave a little dismissive shrug of his shoulders. "Very well. I don't believe you need to say anything to confirm it anyway; the evidence speaks for itself." He turned toward the Judge and addressed courteously, "Your Honor, that is all. I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Yuy," he added at the end, purposely flourishing it with a smug, victorious smirk that he wore all the way back to the prosecution desk, where he sat down with the swagger of a vanquisher who'd just conquered something magnificent.

But Heero knew it was false victory—Duo had been the one to truly unnerve the Peacecraft attorney, it was Duo who had proven himself, at least to Heero, the keener of the two, and pinning Heero into a corner with his own words did not qualify as surmounting Maxwell's Demon himself. He saw the arrogance in the attorney's eyes and only could frown at him, wondering just how contemptibly absurd he could be, thinking he'd gotten back at the bohemian for the time he'd spent on the stand, mocking everything he said.

"Alright," the Judge acknowledged calmly, his glasses winking under the light as he shifted his head toward Heero in a collected little nod. "Thank you, Mr. Yuy. You may take your seat now."

* * *

Upon returning to his seat, he found that the unclassifiable woman who had occupied the one beside it had been filled instead with only hints of the strange perfume she'd worn and a distinctly indistinct suspicion stirring somewhere in him, but that vague worry was eclipsed by the only worry that had been on his mind of late and Heero sat down where he had originally been, her absence no great loss to him. She wouldn't be there to taunt him and simultaneously support him, wouldn't be there to distract him from what he was there for. When he sat, sometime later, after all the formality of the court had run its course, the Judge called for a recess in which he announced he would be deciding the verdict. He had seen enough evidence to make his impartial and fair decision and now only needed the time to determine to what fate of Duo Maxwell's that evidence would lead. He left the bench and, like a hermit carrying away something precious to be hidden away and tinkered with, disappeared into his quarters for a long time.

Heero stood up some time later, while the courtroom milled and chatted and some filled out for a breath of fresh air, and wandered vaguely toward the water fountain. His stomach churned with knots and his chest swelled against his ribs with burden and his head was distended with thoughts of the bohemian, but his mouth was dry, his stamina already threadbare, and his body independently ordered him out of the courtroom.

Long out of sight and of mind of the traveler, Relena Peacecraft had taken off that morning to be with her father while he was recovering from the severe bone damage the bullet of Maxwell's Demon had done to his shoulder, as well as generally weaken the Senator and open him up for disease caused by the smog and stress of the city. Not to mention his entire security force was practically insane with paranoia, even pointing their sights at leaves scattering on the ground as they escorted their employer, now very aware that another man could easily come to assassinate the pacifist. All parties involved agreed that the city of Cinq was not a healthy place for the Senator to be at the moment. His estate, location undisclosed, would be better suited for recovery, and notably less likely to house an assassin of any kind. The Peacecraft daughter had taken an early flight on the exclusive Peacecraft jet and just dismissed her chief investigator of the duty of looking for her adoptive brother. The direction had been received in a discrete, singular memo even earlier that morning, lying on the desk when she walked into her office, telling her gently that her services were no longer needed and that all her help had been greatly appreciated. The memo was typed and professional and just plain indifferent in its dismissal, so there was no real telling if Relena had been the one to write it—to Marcella Lain she had seemed much more concerned about finding her brother and making sure his safety was certain more than anything else, aside from her father's health. But she was a professional woman if nothing else and with that she sat down at her desk, filed the memo, wrote two to her colleagues, and began sifting through new requests with no signs of regret. The file concerning Heero Yuy's whearabouts was put away and forgotten.

Relena would be arriving at the lush, guarded estate sometime near midday and she would be to occupied sitting faithfully at her father's side, even pushing his wheelchair through the gardens at dusk and fetching his favorite books to read out loud to him, now that his shoulder had been debilitated from movement. She would be dining with her family, save for one brother, of course, and she would be too busy keeping that brother from her mind until she could fall asleep that she wouldn't pick up a newspaper until the next morning and see the results of the trial. And even then, she would already be in the process of pushing the entire incident from her mind and ridding herself of the terrible disease of worry caused by the ghost she'd found, lying in a hotel bed with his head stuffed beneath a pillow. She would already be slowly accepting Heero had separated himself from her, already slowly coming to terms with him—already beginning to believe that if he was meant to return to their family, to her, then he would, and if he wasn't, he wouldn't.

She was already making herself believe that he had really died at the hands of Duo Maxwell, spiritually, emotional, or whatever else which a man could be killed, and his ghost would follow him to the underworld. She however, was a Peacecraft, and she had to nobly lift her head and carry on, as was the tradition of the persevering pacifist.

But that didn't mean she had to enjoy it.

Other places on that day of sentencing, during that recess of decision, things would be carrying on as well. There's no reason to think that any of these happenings between only two people could ever stop the world from turning, stop things from proceed in their daily way. The markets and shops didn't close for Duo Maxwell while he slunk into dementia, staring at the bars for hours, simply watching the shadows from them shift on the far wall of the corridor and the sunlight darken and brighten as clouds pass. Children didn't cease to be born and elderly men and women didn't refrain from dying while Heero Yuy staggered toward the bathroom and tiredly twisted the knob on the last sinkbowl, dragging water ritualistically across his face while his mind churned, a cream of despair and resolve bickering amongst themselves while lumps of fear formed within it. Life didn't pause in her duties, didn't look up from her page to honor them—they were part of the words on the page, and their events were only a tiny article on a single page in the newspaper of happenings of the world that day.

Somewhere a carnival would be setting up its various attractions, throwing up various tents, and somewhere an impoverished child would be speaking a foreign tongue and giving fortunes to tourists. And somewhere there would be another man questioning himself and gilding it with alcohol. Life didn't wait for them, so it would not wait for Heero Yuy to find his feet, to sort through the layers of despair and hope that made his mind a warring place, before it called him back to the courtroom. He had been standing at the front of the building in a corner, away from the doors and hardly noticeable, staring out the window to the swarm of picketing and protest. This was his cell—barred in by devastating obligation to the "lying, swindling" criminal who'd shown him the truth, and Duo's was the police cell where he sat and bled and had occasionally smoked, but now he sat and dreamed instead, too weary to claw at the walls, too late to ask for another cigarette from Vega, and his hands too weak to hold the rosary.

It slipped out between his fingers and clattered to the floor while his mind folded in on itself with dream.

As for the mysterious Catalonia woman, she had disappeared from the courthouse without a single noise sometime during the traveler's testimony. When Vega returned home that night, after leaving the Cinq PD in secrecy and leaving Duo to brood alone, he would find her things had also liberated themselves from her room. She only left the war novel she had been reading, borrowed from her sister's finely organized shelf of books, and left it in a distinctly Dorothy manner: The book had been laid wide open on her otherwise barren desk and seemingly randomly opened to, and marked at with a slip of newspaper clipping, the scene in the book where the general charges into battle and takes not two steps before his horse stumbles and he falls to be crushed beneath his charging battalion. "_And oh, how the peoples wept when they discovered they had trampled the life from him, standing victorious on the battleground, enacting the funeral service for their lord._"

You might weep too, as you watched Heero stagger back to his seat when all had gathered back in the courtroom, moths converging, waiting for the fire to be lit beneath stake to which they had tied the bohemian, and sit among them, waiting for a completely different result. He was exhausted, and he had been for for what felt like days, weeks, years in his mind. The time he'd spent in the Isuzu was a eon ago and it was lost forever—even if he did manage to pull this off, what chance was there he'd have life any easier after Duo had been freed.

He would have the bohemian, yes, but no one would instantly forget everything he had done. He would be ridiculed and hunted and despised, probably for the rest of the life, but he had the imperishable instinct to stay with the con man and he would, no matter what the ignorant masses could bring. No matter how far he drifted from the Peacecrafts. Blood was thicker than water, but the Peacecrafts were not blood, and they were water of a polluted spring. They might question his clarity of mind, might try to undermine every dedication he had to the criminal, but none of it mattered.

He had never been more certain of a thing in his life than this.

He turned from the window, tearing his eyes from the image of rallying bigotry that swarmed the building, and began to follow the flow back through those large wooden doors, following the _hienn_ in the stream they created.

So, knowing everything you do now, watching the figure of that spent man walking willingly toward the fire that had sucked the life from in the first place, knowing how his agony was only matched by the person he was trying to protect, knowing the truth of the incidents and accusations as you do, you would weep too, as you watched Heero's face when the verdict came out, a thick, black word.

When the judge returned and the mistrial continued regally, when all the formalities had been pushed aside and he could get to what everyone was really awaiting—the sentence. When his mouth opened and that curtain of despair that had been hanging overhead, sharpening itself into a guillotine, came crashing down with the word, "Guilty," and severed all hope, sending it to an oblivion forming in Heero's deadened eyes.

"The defendant is found guilty as charged and also of committing a thousand other various crimes against American citizens, which shall not be overlooked or without weight in his punishment. I hereby sentence Duo Maxwell to serve two consecutive life sentences imprisonment without opportunity for parole, the location as to where this sentence is to be served out is still not definite, pending a suitable penitentiary can be found. Keeping the invalidity of Mr. Maxwell's heritage in mind, all appeals and opportunities for retrial have been revoked by the Supreme Court and this decision shall not be challenged. This court," the elderly judge sighed, lifting the gavel dutifully and letting it fall like a final killing stroke, "is now dismissed."

Meanwhile, Duo slept, and in his dream, he was just hearing the gunshot that would begin the end of his life, sitting his mother's lap and blissfully skinning the potatoes to be put in the stew kettle for dinner that day.

* * *

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

_Luiem ce rwennos hoa ei qhui ne yiyren som ki-rwen romm._

* * *

A/N

1 You're just making things worse for yourself, goddamn idiot human! You idiot!

(The last line was in Nekonese, also.The excerpt at the beginning is part of my all-time favorite childhood elementary music class song. The song Duo sings is the Rolling Stones song that never ever leaves my head.)

Every time I post, it's always been way too long since the last update. And every time I post, just like clockwork, I've gone over the limit for that chapter and spilled out into a new one. Y'all must be really sick of hearing me say that every time I finish a chapter to actually right the author's notes. Man, I am. Now don't be rash. Before you all start hurling things at me to wound me and make me change the outcome, hear me out. I won't change it, but don't think Duo's already dead, alright? This story isn't over! It ain't over until the fat muse sings, and my muse is not fat and not ready to sing. I know, still dark as ever, and Heero is about as stable as a matchstick house at this point, but there are still two chapters left. I promise you, I _promise_ you that these are the last two. Dead serious. I will not let my muses get away with me again. But, I don't know when they're gonna get posted. They will, of course, but the last most likely not until the beginning of next year. The next chapter, maybe before Christmas, maybe not. I'm hoping to. As to the foreign exchange program I talked about—no cigar. So, unforunately for my fantasy of a gypsy lifestyle, I won't be going away this summer, aside from my friend's cabin, most likely, so that just leaves more time for writing. That's good news for all my readers—and thank you for all your support, voiced and unvoiced alike. It sustains me.

(happy holidays.; go be with your loved ones and enjoy life)

Kaitsurinu


	24. Part 24A THE EXPRESSION

Part 24 THE EXPRESSION (a)

They searched, they shoved, and they sniffed through the crowd as it left the courthouse, jabbing lights and microphones into every face that came their way, seeking out the attorney, the Peacecrafts, and the most scandalous character since Maxwell's Demon himself, his sole defender. They found no trace of him, not even a glimpse of the tousled dark hair in the crowd, and the media machine moved on to what scraps they could preen from the carcass, like true vultures. It didn't matter whether they had cornered him for an interview anyway (it's doubtful they would have gotten anything besides an adamant response of No Comment' to each question); by midday the public would have already poured over the footage mercilessly and they would have found something catchy and pretty in print to coin for Heero Yuy, a Clyde for Maxwell's Bonnie. So they scrapped amongst themselves for the first opportunity at the most infamous actors of the tragedy obsessing the headlines and few had time to be the wiser to an open window on the west side of the building. Looking in, one saw the empty bathroom, and looking out from within you could still see the disheveled bushes where a body had passed through and looking further down one's line of sight, you'd see Heero Yuy disappearing off in the distance.

It was a Thursday, a very bright and promising-looking Thursday morning. The sun apparently hadn't gotten the memo.

Deputy Roman M. Vega would be scheduled to take his shift again at promptly 8 o'clock at night, and the libraries were already opening in town. Back in the city where Heero had began, a good three or four days' drive from Cinq, the other college students who had managed to keep themselves out of any nationally involved scandal had already begun to fall into that lovely lull of a vacation where you're no longer awaiting it, but not yet dreading the end of it. And in their absence, the school was drained of its usual buzzing of bodies and voices in the halls, and the library was back to collecting dust. In that library, where Heero had spent many hours cramming and burying the sense of aimlessness that was growing within him at the time in books, a single librarian came through the door after unlocking it and turned on one of the lights to light his path.

The rest of the room remained shadowy, sleepy—the sky clouded over here, unlike in Cinq—and the tall shelves were indistinguishable from one another. He walked confidently toward one row in particular and walked cautiously down the aisle, his eyes sweeping over the spines of the books crowded together in their sleep. After a few moments of searching, his hand descended toward a mundane looking book sitting humbly on the second shelf from the ground and pulled it out. He held it up and read the cover, squinting until he remembered to pull his glasses out of his pocket. At first glance—at any glance, really—it didn't look like a book that had just found its way to an elite list: the most secretly demanded books of the day. Arthur J. Washburn's anthropology of many migrant communities titled blandly, "My Studies," was authored by a man who was almost equally bland, and not particularly interesting or outgoing besides his studies, obviously, had written this book nearly ten years ago and it had sold as well as it could for being authored by who it was—a nobody. One copy had found its way to this library and this librarian could count the number of times it been requested or checked out on one hand. One of those few had been a professor of anthropology, and another had been Heero Yuy. He'd been rather bland as well during that time; he was pointlessly studying without a real passion for anything and he'd become so desperate he'd randomly picked something off a shelf. So desperate, he was taking books home as a lush might take home anonymous women, without thought, without real care, and without importance the next morning, the next day.

This book did not blatantly deal with Nekonese culture, but dedicated one chapter to them, among dozens of other gypsy cultures and societies, all others human. If it had, by now it would have already been needed two reprintings by sheer abrupt demand. The general public did not know of this book, and the general public was under the impression nothing had been published in American books about the race, but a select few did know of it, and they were the most sensible kind of people. That librarian was one of them, and he quietly took the book home to read it as a companion work to the unending juggernaut of trial footage on the news. He had even heard a few rumors Heero's manuscript had been leaked and copies were being made, but he overlooked it as just a rumor, a part of the over-frenzied reaction.

The chapter dealing with Nekos wasn't overly long, and it was more of a summary of their way of life, of the Nekos themselves, than an investigation into their own civilization, a nomadic, tribal one that had been developing independent of America or modern human culture.

As an anthropologist, he was very apt with languages and used it as a tool, but many of the tribes had a few individuals who knew English from being in contact with human hunters, traders, and some Inuit tribes that coexisted with them in the north. There were too many dialects specialized for a certain tribe or a certain trade for him to learn proper Nekonese, but he was able to distinguish that there those localisms, and two major universal tongues, Hunter's and Elder's Nekonese. Nekos of all different tribes could communicate through these catholic languages, during large mass hunting excursions and the assemblies of the Elders. He picked up the basic structure of the language (subject-verb-object, just as many classical languages) and some of the major vocabulary, one of them being the word for the Nekonese ear, which obviously had no translation into English: _Ikkunnoi. _Heero would read this word and years later hear it again, while having his own radical anthropologic experience.

He studied their daily routines and would trace their migration patterns—the men would always follow the prey and the sources of nourishment; the women, Elders, and kits would either keep a village or a semi-permanent encampment to perform daily tasks. He often made comparisons to the indigenous _hienn_ people of the Americas, and had a suspicion a few might even have melded with Nekonese culture and mingled because of their similar lifestyles. But the extent of knowledge of Nekonese genetics was as proficient as his talent with women. He didn't even begin to suspect that they were similar enough to human beings to cross-breed, to hybridize, to have half-Neko, half-human offspring. He didn't know that some of the Native American bloodlines had been infused in Northern Neko bloodlines for centuries. They were able to retain a very stable gene pool and an abundance of advantageous alleles even as infusion occurred. They were still able to retain their strengths as Nekos and combine it with human benefits: heightened senses with more adaptable immune systems; untamed strength and agility with durability and stamina; incredible tempo of recuperation with longer life spans. Had Washburn been more deeply south while studying these creatures he would have seen a progressive village, one with Neko and human cohabitation and prosperity—seen corn growing beside fixed huts and houses where there once only would have been a hut of prized wolf and bear furs and smoked meat. Mixed people holding an English Shakespeare book in one hand and a traditional Nekonese bone spear in the other.

These Nekonese and mixed, _Dires_, tribes lived for centuries, while America bustled and innovated beneath them, in the cold wilds and seclusion north in Canada and even sometimes as far as the Arctic circle and Alaska. They moved like wolves, with the herds that sustained them, and often times competed with and killed those wolves. They lived separately of normal human society, and even those with human wives and husbands and mixed children were either of Indian or hunter or furtrapper descent. Separate from the main bloodline of _hienn_ civilization they remained until colder winters drove them further south and drew the weak into their graves, until recent famines had pushed them towards that civilization unless they had the intention of starvation. That's when the sparks had begun. Politicians and conservatives who had became aware of the race in that time as truly more than bedtime story figments or packs of animals feeding and killing without sentience were already edgy about the issue of Nekos, and when word spread of the progressive villages that housed both kits and children, where Neko and _hienn_ laid down together, it began to truly rile up a few people. To political men like Senator Peacecraft, they saw them as senseless practitioners of bestiality and they opposed all interracial interaction that was not strictly platonic, trade-related, and brief, and the public began to form opinions while little was factually known and rumor began to spread, while Neko people were being forced closer to their metropolises, to their cities, to their homes. And it was that fear of the unknown, bestial culture descending from the north, almost like a wolf pack, that fed the public image.

Parents on the borderlines, the areas nearest to Neko settlements, began to change the lines in the old bedtime stories. "Who's afraid of the Big Bad Neko? He'll huff and he'll puff and he'll _blow your house down_!"

The day passed into evening in eerie silence, in a sort of calm that was most disturbing. The protesting citizens outside the courthouse still milled unhappily, and scuffles still broke out almost regularly near the jail, swaggering teenagers and troublemakers trying to come too close to the police department, but they were less violence than before and now often turned away at the first request. The storm that Duo Maxwell's botched assassination had created dissolved too easily, too quickly with the verdict, and left the town like a ghost town in comparison to what it had been only hours before. The media frenzy was immune to the lull, of course—they would probably go on for weeks, no matter if everything did manage to go back to normal so quickly in Cinq. Maxwell's Demon and his infamy and his defeat were media morsels too juicy to abandon so readily. But the day was uneventful for hours—no violence in the streets, no Peacecraft to shoot down the one-eared Neko in fiery rhetoric, no sign of Heero Yuy's reponse or even of the man himself.

Nothing drastic happened and the day stretched out into a horrible famine of spirit. Duo Maxwell lay slumped in the corner of his cell, and this time when there was food brought to him, he was unconscious and not just to stubborn to accept it. When he finished dreaming of the day his family had been killed, his _ikkunnoi_ had been sheared off, and his life forever damned, he sat up, coughing dryly and wrapping his arms around his stomach while it twisted hungrily. He didn't touch the food, and even if he had been willing to give up his pride and reach for it, he felt too weak to get up. What good would it do, anyway? Prolong his life so the _hienn_ could take all the more shots at him? No thanks. So, unwilling to face the dreadful thoughts in his mind, he ran back to his dreams, where his mother, father, and siblings still lived and breathed, and died over and over again. He slept while his body craved, until darkness and his own fading strength would wake him later, the entire day spent.

Contrary to daily tradition, Vega did not appear on the job, in his perfectly pressed uniform and his sympathetic brown eyes rested and ready for another night shift at the Cinq PD, even if he was assigned to the usually dismal tasks of monitoring the arrested in their cells, strolling up and down corridors for hours with not much to do to occupy his mind. Breaking an immaculate record, he called in claiming sickness, for which his wife vouched on the phone as well. When he hung up, pardoned for a day and as healthy as he'd ever been in his life, he remained in the kitchen with his wife, face distorted with concern and bafflement. Evelyn was not dressed in her traditional insomnia-inspired garb, she still wore her clothes from the day and the baggy sweater that had once been her mother's and stood at the other side of the kitchen. The coffeemaker gurgled raucously and coffee slowly filled. He turned and went back to the table, which were his family had always converged and it was instinct to gather there now. His expression was troubled, but not panicked, but not quite composed either.

Evelyn sat down beside him once the coffee had filled up and slid a I'd Rather Be Dead Than Forty' mug toward him, watching his face carefully. "I know you're concerned for them both, Roman, but he's a grown man. He's made his own decisions to do this—it was his decision to call us and ask for help in the first place, and it'll be his decision if he wants to show himself." She smiled, and the signs of sleeplessness were already setting into her eyes, but she put a hand on her husband's wrist and shook it affectionately. "Don't fret about it. There's nothing you can do about this but offer help when he comes looking for it."

"It's just like all those stories you used to read in magazines, you know? Terrible things happen to decent people, and you don't realize how horrible it is until it happens to you or someone you know," Vega groaned, setting his cheek into the palm of his hand, ruffling at his hair with the other. "It sucks," he added eloquently, taking a drink.

"They do, and it does," she agreed.

"And I feel horrible about it—poor guy looked like he was about to drop dead even before today, can't imagine how he looks now."

"You want to look just like him? Don't worry so much, Roman; most of this is out of your hands. I know you're always concerned for others, but you don't need to do this. If he needs help, I'm pretty sure he'll come back to us for it. He seemed grateful to us the last time, even though he left so early this morning."

"And now I suppose now you're gonna tell me nothing's as bad as it seems," he grumbled good-humoredly, still staring down into the black, unsweetened coffee while his wife leaned against his shoulder and hummed an affirmative happily, putting her hand on his back.

"Did you see Dorothy at all?" she asked calmly, picking up the coffee mug from her husband's hand when he was done sipping from it and taking a swig for herself, only accelerating her journey into nightly sleeplessness.

"Not a trace," Vega said. He glanced up at the clock while the second hand sliced the time away tick after tick. "I'm beginning to think she abducted him or something."

"She may be a mischievous little duchess who thinks she's just playing one big chess game, but that's going a little far, even for her. She was much too fascinated by Heero to do anything drastic—she's probably following him around and confusing the poor man with the way she encrypts everything when she talks. If she is, he's safe enough." By now, her arms had slipped completely around the Chicano's shoulders and her chin slipped into its habitual cove on his shoulder, where it'd laid on many waking nights, pining for sleep. But that shoulder was still tensed, still coursing with anxiety typical of his compassionate nature, still filled with anxieties over the welfare of another. The older Catalonia woman listened to his voice sigh, closing her eyes with a drowsy urge for one of the first times that week, and listened to it roll out beside her ear.

"His safety's not really my concern, Ev—it's Duo's. It's been close to two hours now since Rob called and if he doesn't get word of it soon, I don't think Duo will make it through till morning. I heard what he said about Duo not eating, and I know he hasn't touched a thing—"

They both startled when the sound of a body heavily lunging through the door in the entranceway broke the silence of their home at ten at night, strikingly loud without the distant hum of an unwatched television or children playing in the living room or Dorothy prowling back and forth, busy with some affair. The door had been unlocked, and whomever came plowing through it staggered forward clumsily, as if they'd been expecting much more resistance trying to enter. From their angle at the kitchen table, the pair was only able to see a fraction of the entry hall, glowing with a yellow lightbulb, and Vega craned his neck back to take a quick, defensive look. He automatically assumed someone was breaking in, unaware that the owners were still at home, or some bum of a kid had grown bored over his long Peace Commemoration holiday and had picked up the habit of wandering into stranger's homes. Listening a second longer, he heard a long, haggard groan as the man steadied himself and trudged down the corridor. Evelyn moved instinctually behind her husband's frame as he pushed the chair away and stood up, and she was close enough to feel the gasp of air going into his lungs through his back while she glanced around his shoulder.

"Heero!" Vega exclaimed. Whatever gladness was in his voice at his presence quickly turned to a hiss of concern, as he looked upon the sight that was the traveler, standing and panting in his entryway. "Where the hell have you been?"

"What does it matter?" he murmured in response. The Japanese man brought along an aroma of a bar, of second-hand smoke clinging to his clothes and distant hints of alcohol that were even noticeable to the lesser senses of a _hienn,_ and beneath it was a mixture of grime and sweat that embodied the flagrant sense of despair that hung around him. Whiskey remained undeniably on his breath, and one could instantly connect it with the heavy, gawky steps he took, with one hand against the wall to guide him as he walked into the kitchen. But he was still Heero Yuy—his depression was not marked by the hints of alcohol in the air surrounding him or even by his state of dress, because his shirt remained unruffled and his appearance still very much preened. It was the waning in his eyes paired with the dead man's enthusiasm that really said it all. He seemed only to move forward on some unholy force that propelled him even as his mind was losing itself along the way.

"What happened to you?" Vega asked, this time more concerned than agitated, taking a step toward the Japanese man, who had lost that propulsion somewhere between the corridor and the kitchen where he now stood, almost teetering. The deputy put his hand on the shorter man's shoulder as he came close on a comforting instinct and nearly jerked back. He was shivering, twitching inconstantly beneath his hand. "Where did you go all day? You were damned near impossible to find and D—wait, are you _drunk_?"

Heero took a defensive step back, with an incriminating wobble to his gait and gruffness in his voice that did normally accompany one too many glasses of his preferred drink, whiskey. He shrugged Vega's hand off rudely and in the dim lighting, the shadows stretching his face made him seem like death freshly warmed over. "No," he grunted dimly. "I _tried_ to, but I only had enough money for one drink."

"Whatever, I guess it's more important just that you're here," Vega dismissed reluctantly, reasserting his hand on the Japanese man's trembling shoulder. There was a more important matter at hand. "God, you're freezing. You walked here again, didn't you? Man, you are something. Evelyn and I'll make you something warm to eat if you want, but you need to get going as soon as possible. They summoned you to the courthouse hours ago—"

"What the fuck for?" Heero grumbled sourly, suddenly ripping his shoulder away from the weight of the deputy's hand and stepping back again. His eyes had turned glazed, like those of a deer carcass after lying dead on the road for a few hours, and those hollow eyes turned on Vega with a vacant expression and an unenthusiastic scowl. His words were slurred, but more from exhaustion than any other force. "No one listened to me then, so why should I expect that to change? It's probably just the press, they'll want to interview me or something vain like that. Waste of time." He scoffed bluntly. Disillusionment radiated off of him while his eyelids drooped low, his brief show of life spent. "I need some money."

"Not to get drunk, you don't."

That dismal little light returned to his eyes, fiercesome in the dark. "Yes, I do," he hissed back.

"You need to get down to the courthouse soon, before they just forget it all and head home. Then Duo'll really be screwed over," Vega said angrily. He was sure if he was upset by the sullen contempt he was being shown by a man who'm he'd welcomed into his home and spent the last day searching around for, if it was the way he continually brushed his hand off his shoulder when it was only to comfort him, if it was the fact he seemed to care more about getting too intoxicated to think than worry about a bit about Duo, the sole reason he was here in this city—most likely it was a combination of all of those, and it was working. The man who had been too softhearted to strike back at his abusive uncle when he tried to leave home at eighteen years of age was starting to heat up beneath the collar, watching Heero stand in his kitchen, defying him, stinking of a run-down bar and disregard. "And this time it _will_ be your fault."

"You want to reconsider that?" Heero growled flatly.

"Do you want Duo's death on your conscience? Are you going do nothing about it?" was the undaunted challenge, and Vega's face did not budge even when Heero's body finally seemed to lose that last little flame that had held it up and he slumped visibly, losing all of the intimidation in his body. In the darkness, his face finally began to reflect his mind when it crumbled and his brows dug painfully together, hopeless and on the brink of falling over the edge where he'd been walking for the last few days. Even his voice warbled with vulnerability when he choked out, "No—No, I don't, but I _tried_ already, I'll just fail him again—!"

While the two men standing in the kitchen remained that way, one too surprised by the other crumbling so readily even when he had suspected he would, the woman who had stood behind her husband, watching the scene, decided to break the silence before it settled itself on them. She walked around Vega in her bare feet and gave the traveler a comforting embrace without a second thought, resting the side of her head on the top of his and telling him quietly, "You haven't failed, Heero." Though no man really enjoyed the sight of his wife embracing any other man, Vega only watched as Heero leaned forward into his wife, put his arms around the first bit of warmth and compassion he'd felt in a long time, and ignored every rational thought that came to his exhausted mind. He felt horrible, and Eveyln's comfort assuaged that, and he liked it. It wasn't Duo's arms wrapped around him—but he was too tired to care from whom the comfort came.

"You still have your chance, you know," she hummed, petting the back of his head as she leaned back and smiled warmly down at him. "Judge Robert Reimer called our house a few hours ago, looking for you. He wants to discuss something with you about Duo's well-being in private. No press, no pressure."

Heero lifted his weary head from her shoulder, his disheveled dark hair tickling at her chin as he moved, and turned a tired face up toward her, eyes wide and scraping for whatever crumb of hope they could get. She could see the glimmer on his skin where the lines of moisture had formed and dripped down his face, though he did not cry aloud. "The judge—?"

Vega had moved beside them, and this time when he clasped a hand on Heero's shoulder, it was not refused. "I'll give you a ride over there—that is, if you're not too stubborn just to walk there yourself," he offered, with a little laugh at the end.

* * *

The courthouse had lost all of its shine and vigor, all of its occupants, all of the protestors who had massed before the stairs with their homemade narrow-minded signs, by the time the clocks in the city had turned unanimously to a quarter to midnight, and the traffic that had yearned to pass through that street had finally returned, a quiet, river-like stream of cars and their silent highlights. That was good news for him, as he shut the passenger side door and walked up the stairs alone, while Vega remained in the parked car, watching the road and the dizzying headlights stream back and forth. Even though it was dark, he could almost see every chip in every stair and it was a much more sinister experience walking up them the second time, when he was painfully aware of his failure and without the cushion of false hopes. Going up them that morning had already begun to blur in his mind. It didn't help that he had gone drinking afterward, but everything had been moving so much faster that morning than they were now. Maxwell's Demon's verdict was in, and it was guilty—the city could sleep sound now, things could relax again.

The door was opened when he reached it and a security guard held it while he passed through. The halls echoed eerily every sound he made, as empty as a skeleton's skull. The guard remained at the door where he remained silently, and Heero took another harrowing walk down to the courtroom, through those doors, and past the witness stand. He had to travel past every memory he'd been fighting with over the last few days, brush by every time he had seen Duo's eyes darken on that witness stand, every time that attorney gave him his victorious smile as he paced back and forth in front of him, and, as the bohemian would have put it so eloquently, it fucking sucked.'

The door to the judge's quarters was unlocked, but it had been ingrained in Heero to always knock, so that's what he did, after standing at the large oak door for a few minutes, steeling himself for the worse. God knew no matter how bad things were, they always found a way to get worse, he thought as he raised his hand. But before he had the chance to knock, the old voice from within hailed him. "Just come on in, Mr. Yuy," the judge beckoned, and the traveler obeyed, twisting the doorknob with a hint of anxiety shining through the overwhelming color of depression in his eyes.

Inside, the judge Reimer, who had overseen Duo's trial and then administered his verdict, now sat at his desk, now longer writing studiously as the paper lying before him suggested he had been. His robes had been hung up somewhere, and his glasses had been folded up and placed on the desk beside the warm yellow light. He looked amazingly mundane, normal without his distinct magistrate clothing, and his gavel now replaced with a more harmless ballpoint pen. When Heero stepped into the doorway, he calmly set the pen down and watched him stand there with a softening expression until he politely offered him to take a seat. The traveler's eyes flickered cautiously at first, though no one in their right mind should be so suspicious of an old man at a desk with only wisps of hair clinging to his head, but it was it was hard to avoid.

Every doorway he'd turned and walked through up to this point hadn't resulted in the best—stepping into that gypsy's tent had preceded a consuming and risky infatuation, following Duo to Cinq had ripped him from almost every idea of the world he had had, and trying to save a criminal who didn't want the accept the help had broken his heart. Numbly accepting Relena's offer at a relationship had emptied his bored existence into a hole and that had started it all. Going through more of those doorways was not something he looked forward too, now, considering just how more miserable he stood to become if he chose the wrong one.

_But there is a right one somewhere, right?_

And on an impulse, Heero stepped in and closed the door behind him. There was nothing behind him but woe to drive him forward, self-doubt thrown aside, after all.


	25. PART 24B THE EXPRESSION

Part 24 THE EXPRESSION (b)

Duo was awake when his internal clock told him it was somewhere nearing one in the morning, something residual left over from his purely Nekonese grandparents and that had been diluted by the infusion of human blood. He was awake but his eyes were half-lidded and watching memory play out in his mind, dancing from thought to thought in a drowse. It was all he could do to ignore the feeling of his own skin closing in on him, his stomach drawing up between his lungs, and his arms clinging tighter around his abdomen to medicate it. He still was slumped down in a corner, slowly sliding down over the hours and hours he'd laid there until his head was cocked upright against the cement and the rest of his body sprawled out on the floor bonelessly beneath it.

He barely noticed the guards were absent, and that they had been called away for some reason nearly an hour ago. The darkness of night seeping in from the tiny barred window overhead had brightened when the moon snuck out of the shadow of a skyscraper and cast eerie patterns of light and shadow against the wall as it passed through the bars. There were dim, inexpensive lights only switched on for night periodically spaced down the corridor running past those bars and one flickered near the end of the hall. The sounds of shoes scuffing, distant papers shuffling, and even the low murmur of conversation through the door at the end of the hall had faded while the night grew deeper. All the song in the bohemian had faded away and the cellblock remained silent. He no longer had the energy or the interest to pace, so over the hours he had slumped to the ground. It was a thickly quiet place that reeked of relinquishment; Duo had given up and you could even feel it in the air.

The bohemian let his head fall to the side and he heaved a sigh. He'd uttered the Hail Mary, the first prayer his mother had taught him, some of the first English words he'd ever learned, so many times that he was sick of the sounds it made. He was ready to throw away the memories attached to them if they wouldn't stop haunting him, if he couldn't escape the memory of his mother guiding his tiny hand across the page beneath the words and whispering them with him. If he couldn't escape the memory, he wished he could just escape it all, wished they would just get around to dragging him out back and shooting him already. He knew was inevitable, they knew it was inevitable, but someone must have enjoyed prolonging his suffering. They didn't need to drag it out like this; they didn't need to waste their precious air for breathing on a _hateful and violent_' criminal like him. They should just do it and get it over with, he muttered sullenly in his head, his lips too dry and weak to do much for conversation with himself.

They should just put all formalities aside and kill him—they'd put all justice and integrity aside for him already. No reason every rule shouldn't be revoked just to kill the once untouchable Maxwell's Demon.

"_Yes, there is_," that _hienn_ voice whispered back.

Duo twisted up into a sitting position at the startling sound of locks unclasping noisily down the corridor, interrupting his morbid silence and tearing through the fantasized voice in his head. His ikkunnoi flashed toward the sound, soaking up every tiny noise in the cellblock there was to be heard, and his shoulders instinctively tensed up, pressing against the cold cement. He suddenly lost that morbid resignation and felt basic instinct returning him as he started to consider the fact that he may have just gotten his wish. There was a back door that gave access to the cellblock at the far end of the corridor, through a small security-check room, which had also been vacated hours ago. That door also came swinging open moments later and then came the most dreadful sound of footsteps approaching.

Duo's entire body grew taut and even in his starvation it fed the adrenaline to start throbbing dully in his head and down to his bloody fingertips. He almost bristled at the sound as the single person drew closer to the cell. He was overtaken by an overwhelming last-ditch urge for survival, bubbling up from within pure instinct. While he imagined himself being led out and shot and the possibility of knowing nothing but blackness afterwards, he felt all his desperation returning to him. He remembered the traveler's face and he felt even weaker that he began to growl. His eyes, slit in the moonlight, remained glued on the bars in front of him, baring a tooth. Suddenly, death didn't seem so great, picturing the last thing he saw to be a couple of garbage cans and some dark brick walls and the last thing he heard to be some fat officer grunting behind him while he lifted the gun to the back of his head.

All the attraction had left the idea of death by then.

He bristled silently, waiting for some officer to drag him away to his end. He also wished he were a little more careful with what he wished for, while the footsteps eventually passed in front of his own cell and the movement in the corridor caused his eyes to automatically adjust. The moonlight on Vega's skin that had looked a hazy blue-grey through the more human part of his retina came into a sharp, more pronounced color through the inhuman part, an internal pair night vision goggles. The backs of his eyes were reflecting a dull silver glow and he could see the deputy flinching, a little surprised by them. Duo was honestly just as surprised to see him and eyed him carefully in return.

He relaxed slightly, but he was visibly anxious while Vega silently stuck a key in the lock and began to twist it. The one-eared Neko pressed his back against the cold cement and rose to his feet in a single slow movement while the barred door swung open, his _ikkunnoi_ flattened cautiously against his skull. He remained against the wall for a few moment even after it had opened wide, watching the deputy as he glanced over both shoulders to both ends of the corridors. Duo could smell the apprehension seeping off him, the fear of getting caught. The two men, one completely human, and one a little of something else, stood and stared at each other for a moment, evaluating each other.

Vega's eyes softened a little, noticing the signs of the strain in the criminal's eyes and the way his arms quivered, exhausted to the bone. He reached behind his back and pulled out a small bundle of cloth that turned out to be Duo's old clothing once he had tossed it to the con man and turned around to face the wall, signaling him without a sound to change.

Duo didn't get the time to speak up before the deputy put a finger to his mouth to signal to be quiet and turned back around, allowing him his privacy. The criminal was secretly mystified of what this midnight intrusion meant—would the Right Guard actually lead him out back and just shoot him? Well, he scoffed mentally, the change of clothes pointed to it; after all, the police department didn't want to be getting any animal blood over their uniform. Duo was too tired to question it any further and in a matter of seconds, he'd been reacquainted with his old con man garb and was rolling up his sleeves white to the elbow while kicking the orange jumpsuit away with distaste. He looked up, his retinas drinking in the traces of moonlight, and saw the deputy beckon him to follow.

Vega turned and started back down the corridor the direction he had come and kept walking even as Duo hesitated to follow. As silent as a ghost, he instead hovered in the doorway, watching the human walk down the corridor secretively and evaluating the situation very carefully. He really had no idea what Vega was doing—he'd be fired if any of his supervisors caught wind that he'd unlocked a prisoner's cell and let him out without authorization, especially one as notorious as Maxwell's Demon—and it went against every scrap of integrity and principle left in him to step out of that cell. He may have stolen, fought, and led a generally defiant life since he had left the ruins of his slaughtered village six years ago, but he was determined to die holding onto whatever dignity he had left and he wouldn't try to escape like a coward, now that he had committed his entire life to his revenge. And even though he had failed miserably at it and Peacecraft still lived and breathed with a bigot's mind, he would not scamper away humiliated. It was born in him as a son of a noble Warrior to follow a certain honor code—never lie and never go back on your word or your commitments. And it took a beckoning look from the hienn in the corridor as he paused, patiently awaiting him to follow, to actually pull him out of that cell and momentarily away from that code.

Vega didn't say a word, didn't tell Duo a thing of why he had come in the middle of the night to drag him out of his cell illegally and then sneak him down the hall to the back entrance, and he didn't ask anything about it. He could respect the fact he was risking his neck to get him out of his cell, and if he was, it must be for something important. So, lips pursed in a morbidly curious frown, the criminal shadowed the deputy down the empty cellblock corridor, past countless cells identical to the one where he'd spent the last few days and finally down to the first door. The only sounds were those of Vega's shoes, trailed by Duo's silent bare feet, and the tiny metallic whispers as he drew out a large ring of keys and unlocked the first reinforced door that would lead them to the outside. Beside that door there was a non-transparent window and in the dark reflection, he saw himself standing behind the deputy's shoulder and smirked with a grimace at the dragging lines in his face. He almost had to chuckle to himself, thinking of how he looked like death scraped off the side of the road and warmed over. But the laughter never made it to his mouth.

Vega pushed that door open, glanced one last time over his shoulder to the other end of the corridor, and stepped through the small transition room. Duo slunk behind him, through an unplugged metal detector, past an official's desk littered with handcuffs, and felt a cold breeze come through the door as Vega opened it to the outside, teasing at his shoulder-length hair and trying to chill him to the bone. The deputy calmly walked down the stairs and left the door swinging open behind him. Outside, he saw a thin of line of trees just outside a high mesh fence and glitters of light from the city just beyond those. The city seemed almost half-dead, pacified now that Maxwell's Demon had been successfully convicted.

Duo heaved a sigh as he dutifully followed the man he'd known as the security guard to the right down the steps and probably to his unceremonious death in an alleyway. He glanced down the short flight of cement stairs that led to the ground and stopped in his tracks once again, because there was someone familiar standing at the foot of those stairs, sitting against the hood of a car and watching him cautiously, painted by the light of a nearby streetlight.

The traveler had his legs crossed at the ankles in false casual poise and tried uselessly not to look like the forlorn scorned as he felt, his eyes glued to Duo as he stopped and noticed him. He couldn't help but feel like he'd just been caught in the stare of a god and shiver—those eyes shined in the light a glowing silver violet as they bore into him, expressionless for a moment before they filled with an indecipherable mix of emotions. The one Heero recognized the best was the one that showed the most—that morbid bitterness that had been his greeting each time he'd seen Duo since that night in the Isuzu. He stood up from the hood and stared back into the bohemian's eyes while the car's engine rumbled into the still of the night.

In a minute, Vega had climbed into the backseat and Heero had already climbed in the driver's seat and shut the door, watching Duo stand outside the ajar passenger side door, the trail of smoke from the exhaust pile billowing faintly around him as he did not move. He felt so tense, watching the unease running through the bohemian while visibly mulling the strange situation around in his head, picking it apart, and trying to decide. He wondered if he'd remembered to breathe and felt his stomach turning uneasily in his belly. Vega sat silently in the backseat, a member of the quiet midnight conspiracy but only a bystander to the unease radiating off the two younger men. He cleared his throat a little when he noticed Duo reluctant to step inside the car without a word of explanation and sunk back into the seat. Eventually, after a long consideration, Duo did slip inside and slam the door shut.

Heero had to shy his eyes away when Duo slid into the seat, too close too suddenly to keep his eye contact. He could smell the cigarette smoke infused with blood wafting off him, along with his natural scent that teased him beneath it all. Sitting in the car, they were inches from brushing shoulders and he could barely breathe to think about it, let alone look at him. Without bars to separate them, Heero was reminded horribly of how intoxicating the bohemian could be, and how foolish he was to take any of the time spent with him for granted—any of his fondness for granted. Besides, the expression smoldering across the con man's face would be formidable to anyone, and Duo kept that terrible piercing gaze on the traveler's face, unsure whether to be suspicious or exasperated of him and this strange new plot of his.

His slit violet eyes raked up and down Heero's profile while he stared ahead, unable to meet eyes with the bohemian just yet. The scowl didn't leave him, and it wouldn't until his suspicions did as well. "What's this all about, Yuy?" he asked caustically, even adding a little scoff of a laugh as he continued. "You in the habit of dragging people out of jails in the middle of the night, interrupting their beauty sleep or something—?"

Heero lifted a black baseball cap from the armrest between them and held it toward Duo, torn that he wanted to look at the man he'd risked so much for but too uncertain to so. He pursed his lips tight against his teeth and put the car into reverse when Duo sullenly took the cap from him without another word of questioning, now just frowning at the baseball hat identical to his old one. He remained quiet while Heero maneuvered the car backwards, the wheels crunching on the gravel, put it in drive, and went down the unpaved roadway leading to the back of the police department and through the opened gate. The small car pulled smoothly out into the sparse traffic, out onto a brightly-lit street while the automated gate slid close behind them.

The colored lights of shops and boutiques, of apartment and restaurants glittered in the window behind Duo, as he sat, rocking slightly with the movement of the car, staring at the side of Heero's face. A horrible silence now rode in the car alongside them, and it was worse for Heero. Even though he could immerse part of himself in just the task of driving, grip his hands tight on the steering wheel, there was still a part of him very much aware of the bohemian baring holes into the side of his face with his inhuman eyes. He glanced over on temptation and his gaze met Duo's for a split second, but it was enough to set his chest on fire and make him regret turning to look.

Duo sighed tiredly, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Really, Yuy. What're you doing?" Heero's hands tensed and his blue eyes remained on the taillights of the car ahead of him at the stoplight. A few anvil-like seconds flattened the silence even tighter down on them and Duo scoffed to himself. "What, are you ignoring me now? You can be even more fickle than a woman, I swear," he muttered to himself, tossing up a hand. "And if this is your plan to whisk me away, I have to be honest—just drop me off, I'll walk myself back."

He glanced to the back at Vega and he returned the look fearlessly, though with more sadness and sympathy than Duo wanted to see, so he yanked his eyes back toward the traveler's uneasy, drawn face and the noticeable twitch in his hands as he gripped the steering wheel tighter than a vice grip. He heaved a sigh, if only to interrupt that silence, and twisted around in his seat to stare out the window, folding his arms so that the carnival-colored lights outside could shine in on the dried bloodstains running down his hands and his bandaged right hand. He let out another huff, but this time his eyelids drooped with it and he stared lifelessly out into the passing cityscape, while the radio whispered beneath the strangling silence just audible to his _ikkunnoi_, not quite twisted all the way off.

_My girl, my girl, don't lie to me /Tell me where did you sleep last night? /In the pines, in the pines / Where the sun don't ever shine / I would shiver the whole night through_

Duo's feline ear twitched when he recognized the song and he masked the grimace he was about to make by sloppily putting the baseball cap on, a tuft of his Nekonese fur poking out beneath the rim.

_My girl, my girl, where will you go? / I'm going where the cold wind blows / In the pines, in the pines / Where the sun don't ever shine / I would shiver the whole night through_

Heero felt like he had taken hold of an electric wire the moment he'd seen the bohemian again, post-Isuzu night and all too real and still all too bitter. And that wire was slowly pumping him full of more and more volts and numbing him into a strange, sensitive place. He might have just been called nervous, or anxious, but no, he'd passed all those things long ago. He wasn't just nervous around Duo Maxwell—he was seriously distressed, and the news he had to deliver to that beautiful, distressing creature only made that condition worse. The electric wire he was holding sat only a foot away from him, and it was slowly killing him but his fingers still held on, even when he was desperate to pull away. Every memory of sitting in the white Isuzu, back when a con man had been a con man and things had been clearer shades of gray, taunted him now—every memory of just sitting talking with the bohemian, every time he had honestly smiled at him, teased him, gently socked him in the shoulder.

They haunted him because he felt like now he would never have those things again.

Heero continued to drive, burying his worrying instinct in the sole purpose of navigation for a moment and taking a left down an empty one-way drive, one that circled around an equally ghost-like, dusky park. Duo sat in the passenger seat, drooping unenthusiastically, and his eyes seemed miles away. Vega remained in the backseat: backseat to the indescribable tension between the traveler and the bohemian, two opposing magnets that needed by nature to come together but were separated by an impassable rift between them—the rift created and sustained by Duo's mistrust and the sins of Heero's adoptive family. So, they drove, not like they had only days before, but they drove.

Heero drove some ways down that road, alone in the street, until the sleeping green of the trees thinned and gave way to the glitter of a lake in the center of the park. Then he pulled to the side of the road and put the gear into park, stopping to stare at the dashboard displays glowing at him for a minute. He lifted his voice softly without lifting his head and said, "Vega, can you watch the car for a while?"

The good-natured deputy nodded his affirmative and replied, "Yeah. How long do you think—?"

"Might be a while," Heero said with a sigh, still unwilling to tear his eyes from the dashboard as they might wander over too far to the right. "You could drive around if you want—I can wait for you to come back."

"You'll be alright if I scan the streets for a bit, you know, watching out for troublemakers for you?"

"Yeah," the traveler replied, smiling ruefully at the steering wheel. "There's a lot that needs to be said. We'll be fine for a while. Go ahead."

"Alright," Vega said warmly, clapping his hand reassuringly on the Japanese man's shoulder as he sat up out of the backseat and pushed the car door open into the still, cold night.

Heero did the same a moment later, leaving the keys swinging in the ignition and the engine purring steadily, awaiting a command to do work. He stood up beside the humble dark blue car and Vega stepped out as well, taking his place in the vacated driver's seat. Heero took a step back to let him pass and when he slipped inside, he glanced up to see Duo standing beside his opened door, his eyes gleaming in the dark, baseball hat cocked crookedly on his head. The traveler felt like he could hardly breathe beneath that stare—and Duo could tell, giving an unhappy little frown in return before finally freeing the _hienn_ and glancing away, moving to slam the passenger side door shut.

"Be careful," Vega reminded Heero solemnly before shutting the door and putting the purring engine into gear, before he drove smoothly off, the shape of the car disappearing into the shadow of the distance, visible only beneath the glow of a streetlamp as it turned the corner. It was the last thing he said to him before he would have to do one of the hardest things in his life, and when Heero looked up to the sidewalk beside and saw the bohemian standing there, still with that piercing gaze, he was reminded just why it was so hard. He felt ready to burst open, to let himself crumble at Duo's feet and beg for his comfort, but he knew in his heart that he would not get it now. Duo's eyes were shining suspiciously, and his body tensing was made no secret. No, he'd probably get shoved away if he tried to get close.

The one-eared Neko, again concealed by a black baseball cap, folded his arms impatiently while he stared at the traveler. He smirked in a grimace. "So," he drawled flatly, "you must be the poor guy they suckered into breaking the bad news to me, huh? What a deal." In the dark, he turned as fluidly as a shadow and started walking over the knoll of grass just beyond the sidewalk, rolling into the deserted park. He shoved his hands casually into his pockets as he strolled and said with forced nonchalance, "Let's get this over with, Yuy."

Heero followed him anxiously but by the time he was in step just behind the con man, he could hardly tell anymore. He was quiet and suprisingly calm just to be near the bohemian all of a sudden—whether it was because he was alone with him, or he couldn't see those piercing eyes anymore, he couldn't tell—and they went silently across the preened green lawns. In the center of the park, surrounded by ash and oak, a small duck pond sat glittering in the sliver of moonlight, a cluster of mallards floating lazily on the surface and a crow picking at the grasses around it. In the middle of a city that had shook with controversy only the morning before, was a slumbering haven that made you feel as if you were pleasantly lost in nature, even while you saw the lights of the city glitter above the line of trees.

A few birds fluttered away as Duo crossed the tiny strip of sidewalk that wound around the pond, Heero behind him, equally trudging. The cold wind of night going through the streets was cut by the abundance of green ash and gnarled old oak and the place glowed with heat and moonlight. As he walked, the con man could feel a nostalgic stone drop to the bottom of his stomach, making him homesick for the warm summer nights he could remember of his home, of his brothers and sister, his innocence. But he walked through it and left it behind him on the grass.

A cat meowed in soft warning before slinking off the nearby bench and sauntering on its way. Heero, startled a little at the sudden movement in the dark to the side of him, paused to watch it disappear as well as he could with _hienn_ eyes and turned back to see that Duo had already gotten comfortable on the slope just around the lip of the pond and thrown his arms up and his hands behind his head, baseball hat tilted up. He almost looked like he was stargazing without a care. Almost—Heero knew he had more worry to his name than he had carefree pleasures. His nicked and scarred _ikkunnoi_ that remained was flattened severely against his skull and his dully watched the sky overhead, a hazy, almost sickly pink color, polluted by too many lights and obscuring the stars.

Heero sat down on the grass beside Duo, bending his knees and slinging an arm over them, and after what felt to him like a horrible length of silence, he tilted his head upwards too.

He had no idea what to say to him, what he could produce from his mouth when it was so dry and fumbling he wasn't sure he'd be able to say his own name if asked, what he could come up with that would make Duo soften from his harsh criminal defenses, make him crack an honest joke, give him an honest smile, or just tell him the truth. He was starting to think maybe nothing could ever break Duo's resolve, when it was soaked in so much blood, pain, and when it was basically all he had. His eyes flickered toward the con man inevitably and it fueled that anxious mind. Could he even talk to him anymore? For god's sake, he felt like a stuttering sixth-grader around his crush. Granted, it hadn't always been the easiest or most pleasant thing to hold a conversation with a headstrong Duo Maxwell, but now the words were even heavier and would not leave his mouth for the life of him. He startled when it was Duo's voice and not his he heard suddenly.

"Hey, traveler."

Heero twisted his head slightly toward him, uttering out, "Aa?"

"Ever look at the moon?" His expression was stonily unreadable in the little illumination there was for _hienn_ eyes, staring faithfully upwards, and it unnerved him a little more. His voice was lower, softer and surprisingly without the cynical sharp edge to it.

"No, not much," Heero answered honestly, running a hand tiredly through his hair and letting it flop messily to wherever it chose. "I never stopped to do anything like that. Never had the time."

Still lying completely still on the grass, Duo let out a laughing scoff that hung in the air much longer than it lasted, a ghostlike echo ringing out over the pond. A sleeping drake fluttered his feathers and beads of water rolled off them into the pond.

"Hm. That figures," he chuckled. "Figures Peacecrafts would live lives as dry as their compassion. But don't worry, it's no beauty you can't just buy from some painting or a night with some baby-faced hooker. From the city, it's as dull as chalk, and from the woods, it comes too close and looks more like a graveyard, but from wherever you look, it's still equally depressing. That's the beauty of it. You can't cheapen its disheartening effect. That's the real secret," the bohemian confessed with a rueful smile, turning his head on the grass to look the traveler in the eye. "So don't worry. You're not missing much."

Heero watched the smile in fascination, tried to imprint the way the violet in his eyes was brighter in moonlight, how his _ikkunnoi_ twitched happily for a moment, because he had a feeling it wouldn't last for long. And it didn't. The short-lived smile soon withered and disappeared somewhere in the bohemian's face and his piercing, emotionless stare returned with double intensity. Heero hadn't realized that he had leaned back onto the grass during his sad narrations—that he was close enough for a heart attack—until Duo stared back in absolute silence, undaunted. Cat-slit eyes devoured his face, constantly analyzing it but never betraying what they were searching for. He wet his lips hesitantly, still not turning away, and Heero could feel his heart drumming against the inside of his ribs, feeling like he free-falling into pure terror. The one-eared Neko blinked as he opened his mouth and he could see silver gleaming in the back of his eye. The sound of his clothes shifting as he twisted onto his side seemed as loud a gunshot and his hummingbird heart kept it's pace.

"Did I ever tell you why they call me Maxwell's Demon, Heero?" he whispered tiredly, losing all the brash spark to his voice all of a sudden.

Heero, who was too anxious to even think at the moment and too enchanted by the melancholy bohemian to remember that he had come to deliver a specific and very burdensome message, could only numbly shake his head, his own mouth horribly dry all of a sudden.

"I gave myself that name," Duo said with a sigh. His ikkunnoi flickered sadly and his eyes traced along a dew-beaded blade of glass.

"And now, I think I'm beginning to understand why I did it. Hell, I'm even beginning to understand what Peacecraft's own damn daughter said to me and I don't want to say that she was right, but she was close to it. As ignorant as she is, I mulled over what she said and came to the conclusion that I made myself my own demon—Maxwell's Demon is exactly what his name suggests.

"I should have just burned my rosary the day I first picked a pocket, first jacked a car solely because I was so pissed at Peacecraft, the day I took my personal shit out on an innocent. Stealing smiles from the people's faces just because _I_ couldn't do it anymore and I envied them so _fucking_ much it got harder and harder to breathe. I really should have burned it and gone to Hell when I tormented my first family, Heero. Who deserves to be happy after they've done something like what I did? I left knives and parts of their dogs scattered around the homes of the few soldiers who helped murder my village that I could track down and a note signed Love from Maxwell's Demon,' on the bedside table. I was so furious I couldn't see straight the first time I did it—I don't remember writing in blood on the walls, but I must have. It was in the news the next day. I'd written the most vulgar things in me on the wall of their two-year-old daughter in smeared blood. After that, I even kept tabs on them, Heero. The wife went into therapy after she'd seen what I done and divorced the soldier; the oldest son attempted suicide a month ago." His voice hid low in his throat, choked but suppressed, as he continued. "I became him—I turned out just the same as Senator fucking Peacecraft."

When Heero only stared back, unable to speak up, Duo cracked a harsh, regretful grin. "Chh," He scoffed to himself. "Listen to me. What a pathetic shit I've become."

"You're not pathetic, you're—" the traveler started up defensively in a whisper, but was cut off by another forced, depressing chuckle.

"Just really fucked up?" The bohemian snorted again and the twisted smile returned to his face, the last barricade against the horrible sadness in him that was trying to force its way out, when it had laid there and festered for years. He rolled over onto his back and nonchalantly hooked his hands behind his head again, closing his eyes with a sigh. "Let's just get this over with, Yuy. Say what you came to say and let's be done with it. That way we can both go home and get on with our shitty little lives."

The rueful smirk disappeared from Duo's face almost immediately when he felt a warm body roll over and lean over him with a knee on either side of his legs and a pair of hands gripping the grass to the side of his head. His eyes snapped open, pupils knife-blade thin, and stared up at the traveler and into the cool blue _hienn_ eyes he had.

"You know neither of us have a home to go back to, Duo," he whispered, and, with the care of a lonely soul and the abandon of a man who had nothing else to lose, bent down and kissed the Neko beneath him. His hummingbird of a heart stopped abruptly, shocked he'd actually gotten the nerve to do such a thing such a volatile and morose bohemian, and started up again at a furious beat. What a thrill, to be stealing a kiss from a notorious thief and getting away with it. His body sang when he suddenly felt Duo lean into him, gently kissing back, and he ran his hand through his hair, spurring the Neko to clamp his hand possessively on the back of Heero's head. The traveler's fingers wandered for a moment, brushing at his single feline ear. Duo's lips tasting of nicotine and hints of blood suddenly stopped responding and he heard the sound of skin slapping as a hand snatched out at his wrist and jerked it from his hair. Heero regretfully leaned back, his chest still pounding, and found himself again on the receiving end of a fierce bohemian stare.

The defense mechanism hadn't slipped into place just yet—Duo's eyes still had to turn to sour vinegar and grimace at him—and he gaped up at the human on top of him. For a second Heero swore he let his exhaustion shine through, and he found himself whispering his name, wishing he could ease it and making the mistake of putting his hand tenderly against the bohemian's face. It finally splintered into his old last resort, the venomous glare, and he whipped the traveler's hand away and snarled at him. "Don't touch the face," he growled, trying to sit up and push Heero off him, push the warm, comforting thing away before he could form an addiction to it, but he resisted, or he at least tried to. There was little standing up by a human to a Neko at midnight, his eyes glowing and his temper growing steadily, feeding the adrenaline in his bestial muscle to shove back.

"Duo—" He panted out when Duo surged up beneath him, his chest brushing against Heero's stomach, the cold, hard beads of the rosary distinct even beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"You're full of shit," he accused in a hiss as he sat up with the sharp liquid grace of a panther, twisting away from the human who looked at him with a contorted face, occupied by conflicting fear and concern. Yes, that damned concern might just be the downfall of the traveler, the fool, Duo thought bluntly to himself, still making a severe accusing face at Heero in spite of those innocent blue eyes.

"I'm not trying to—"

The one-eared Neko twisted his mouth into a sneer. "I said don't touch the personal shit, and my face is fucking personal!" With that, he gave Heero's shoulder a gruff little shove—little by Nekonese standards, mind you—and he abruptly fell back onto his ass on the grassy slope while Duo got to his feet in fluid fury and stalked up the mild hill toward the sidewalk rimming the duckpond. With a scuffle of harsh sounds snapped beneath his breath, he snatched up his baseball cap from where it had fallen and promptly slapped it on his head, crooked. Heero got to his feet as well as he could after being so rapidly shaken up, rattled like a Christmas present, and followed him with a flustered apology stumbling off his lips.

"I wasn't going to hurt you, Duo!" he said, letting an imploring expression through, his eyebrows drawing painfully together and up. "What did I do to wrong you so badly that you have to shove me away every time I try to help you, fangs and claws bared? I'm probably the only one in this whole city fighting to see that you don't die! Why do you hate me?"

"That's the stupidest question I've heard for a while, traveler. I've heard a lot of ignorant shit from ignorant people, but you—you, my friend, you take the empty-headed cake!" Duo snapped over his shoulder with a jeering cynicism, still stalking toward the bench lounging in the shadow of a crippled old oak tree ahead of him. His sinister eyes still flashed silver as he twisted his head back, glaring as the traveler opened his mouth again, trailing him like a forlorn pup. Heero following him only fueled the defensive fire that taken control of him.

"Ya know what? Fuck this. Fuck it all. I'm going back to the jail to starve to death all alone in my little cell, traveler, and you can't do a thing about it! No, can't write a poem in your notebook to save Duo Maxwell's soul, boy!" He tossed his hand up into the air, his wrists caked with dried blood from the cuts on his fingers and his split knuckles. "Maybe then I can find a place where you won't be able to bother me!"

"Duo," Heero said exasperatedly, planting his feet suddenly just as he crossed the concrete of the sidewalk, stepping over a string of graffiti, "I'm trying to help you. The least you could do is not ridicule me for it."

"Ha! Never heard that one, traveler," the Neko scoffed in return, the shadow flopping down nonchalantly onto the park bench and slinging a leg over his knee and his arms behind his head in the blink of an eye. He winked leeringly at Heero, his face painted a somber black and blue shadow in the dark. "Think you're so damn clever, don'tcha? So, speak up, Golden Boy and just fucking spit out what you came to say! Tell me about the guilty verdict already so I can get my hair ready for my appointment with the electric chair."

"Don't talk like that," he said softly, stopping in front of Duo, slung out in a harshly casual pose, his face contorted into a horrible forced, careless smirk.

"I don't have a mother to kiss with this filthy mouth of mine anymore, remember, so I don't give a—"

"Well, I do," Heero said, frowning sadly. "You don't have to talk about yourself like that Duo. No matter how much you try to convince me and the world of otherwise, I know that what you say scares you as much as it hurts me and no one, not even you, really wants to die."

The bohemian cracked an eye open at him. "Shit, traveler. You think you're really a psychologist, don't you?" He laughed contemptuously, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight and the backs of his eyes glimmering as he shook his head. "Aw, are you going to cry?"

"I didn't need any college degree to realize you're more frightened than anybody, just a little time." Heero grimaced grimly. "Though it was almost impossible to figure that out, when you push everyone who even tries to get close to you away so blindly."

That single violet eye glared at him without hesitation, teeth clamped tightly. "Spit out what you came to say, Yuy, and let's just fucking finish this," he growled.

Somewhere past the regrets of a foiled assassination attempt fogging up a mind and a fearful infatuation without cure troubling the other, beyond the cloud of controversy and separatism that followed and choked them both, and past the wrongs that had set Duo into his suspicious and vulnerable mind and in turn had wronged Heero with distrust, they felt an awful déjà vu settle down on them and they suddenly were back in a little anonymous park with pigeons cooing at their feet. But it was even worse the second time around, the second time they found themselves arguing and bickering so passionately. All their secrets had been bared and were no longer their to cushion the ride downhill, only weigh them down and make them feel a sudden age and weariness like never before. For Duo, it was a familiar part of his usual vicious cycles, but it was some of the first real emotions Heero'd had in years and he had no callused slang and frown to hide behind, no incapacitating vices to drown himself in, no shadows to cover himself with. And he could only stare for a minute, pushing those emotions back as he tried to open his mouth again with some of the heaviest words of his life waiting there.

The first part was simple—but Duo would make the last part incredibly difficult, if he wasn't going to open up to him and finally give him even an ounce of trust. He decided quickly this could be a very, very long night.

"You can guess what the verdict was," Heero started tiredly, taking a spot on the bench beside Duo and letting a sigh try to clean the heaviness in his chest out in vain. "So I won't tell you it again." He stared out onto the pond with a stormy mind, and the bohemian stared at him out of the corner of his eye, wary as a night prowling tom and his retinas glowing like one. He was surprised to see Heero suddenly rummage a pack of Marlboros out of the pocket of his jacket and surprised he hadn't smelt them coming from a mile away. He tapped the pack in his hand before holding it out to the one-eared Neko, offering it with a, "I bought them for you. Thought you might need it."

"Yeah," Duo mumbled, taking the whole package of cigarettes, flipping it over in his hand and staring wistfully at the label. "But I don't have a light." He chuckled morbidly and stashed it in his own pocket instead. His eyes focused out on the pond as well, refusing to alight on the human's face as he leaned back on the bench and his head sunk down between his shoulders. "Thanks," he said quietly, kicking idly at the grass with his bare feet.

"Aa." He took the luxury of one last sigh before he officially took on his task. "Judge Reimer gave you two-life sentences imprisonment yesterday for one count of attempted assassination of the Senator and various counts of grand theft auto, armed robbery, breaking-and-entering; basically whatever you confessed to, they tallied up. You would have been on Death Row tomorrow morning and executed probably sometime the following afternoon and your remains would have been disposed of in a matter of minutes had you actually killed him. You were spared of the death penalty solely because you didn't kill the Senator or anyone else—Well, none that they knew of, anyway," Heero said quietly, bowing his head a little out of a wearying memory of bounty hunters and a violent dirt circle. "They haven't decided on where they want to put you, or where you'd actually be safe enough to stay. The judge realized that no normal prison would probably be able to hold you if your truly wanted to get out and he could appreciate how much trouble you're capable of making, also. They're planning on transferring you a solitary confinement cell in New Brussels penitentiary until they find a suitable place for you. Otherwise, you're impossible to place as well as homeless." Heero's weak, mildly morbid attempt a little humor came out horribly strained and tired and Duo almost flinched to hear it.

But he didn't let it show and just smirked with a hint of a grimace and snorted. "Well, that's not going to be a problem. I would last in a cage about as long as a bird in a shoebox with airholes punched by a ballpoint pen would." The bohemian folded his arms and tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

"Yeah, I know," Heero agreed softly. "That's why I wrote it in my manuscript—I didn't think you would be able to even breathe without your freedom. And I guess I was right." A pair of concerned blue eyes flickered over to Duo's face. "You look like you're hardly even there, Duo," he whispered, "and it's only been a few days."

He cracked one eye open, not turning his head, and stared back at Heero. His cynicism was uncharacteristically delayed for a second. "_Fine_, motherhen. Doesn't really matter, though," he drawled lifelessly.

Heero gave him a softened look that told him yes, it did, but he chose to continue instead of hopelessly fighting with the bohemian's self-deprecating ways and words.

"The judge came to the same conclusion that I did today—that you would sooner kill yourself than be locked up, and it's obvious that you could and you would. He summoned me to his quarters an hour ago and told me of his concerns about you. They were the same as mine." The traveler's voice seemed saturated and choked suddenly, and Duo, who had sat up during his speech and turned to face him without noticing he had done so, felt that hidden quick receive a sharp cut. "We agreed that you didn't deserve to die, whether in an electric chair in the public's eye or by your own hand in a prison cell. You shouldn't have to throw your life away like that, no matter how much you believe that you do deserve it or even want it. You shouldn't be such a coward to run away from your life, no matter how difficult it becomes, because you'll only make it a thousand times worse for the loved ones you leave behind; you'll make more people like yourself if you end it. You'd break my heart, Duo Maxwell, and grind it into the dirt." Finally, he scrapped up enough nerve to look him in the eye and fought to keep his hummingbird heart beneath his ribs and all in one piece. "You leave me and I'll turn out as a fugitive, on the run from my family and my whole life. So please think about it."

"Think about what?" Duo asked immediately, not too absorbed in the traveler's poignant Prussian blues to pick up on a subtle beseechment. It suddenly felt like he'd just gained another decade of age and he felt unnaturally heavy and worn. "What do you want from me now?"

Heero wet his lips when they tightened nervously against his teeth and the heavy words in his mouth rolled off his tongue as well as anvils would roll down a flat incline. His hand twitched, he ached to take Duo's bloody, bandaged hand and beg him shamelessly as he could if need be. But he didn't move an inch, only to anxiously open his mouth. "There is an alternative," he managed out vaguely.

Now the one-eared Neko's face had gone from mild, obscurely vulnerable suspicion to confusion and a hint of distrust habitually seeping back into him, _ikkunnoi_ pursed tightly against the side of his head and sitting up in his seat. "What the hell are you talking about now, traveler?" His voice was absolutely flat and his eyes gleamed again, skepticism rousing.

"Judge Reimer gave you an alternative to your given sentence of life imprisonment, Duo—you don't have to die for your sin, he's handing you your second chance on a platter," Heero said, hurried by the growing cynicism in Duo's grimace. "Hear me out and don't automatically set your mind on throwing it away because you think you deserve death for what you've done—"

"The fuck I don't! You don't understand me, cause if you did, you'd know I _do_ deserve it!"

"You hate yourself than you do me, Duo, and that's saying a lot! Just forget what you've done and change, become a better person than you were before, just learn gracefully from your mistakes; death is not a sensible way to repent for your crimes."

"You have no right to tell me how to pay for my sins; you did not grow up torn between two different cultures, two different religions in the same household and trying to sort out the truth in it all and finding nothing but death, so you can't tell me jack_shit_ about it!"

"Committing suicide is a sin in itself, you know," Heero told him firmly, while the Neko bristled in return.

"Yeah, I knew that—what are you, a theologian all of a sudden? Oh, boy, I had no idea you were a scholar of Christianity on top of raging pretentious know-it-all!"

"Duo," Heero said finally, his exasperation cracking again to let desperation ooze out. "Duo, please—"

The bohemian bore a tooth at him and folded his arms, his knuckles a stressful white as he gripped at his elbows. "Oh, don't "_Duo_" me. I told you before that you knew nothing about me, so you got no right to say it like that, and I don't see that fact changing!"

"Oh? How do I say your name, then?" he asked doubtfully.

"Like you're going to break down any frickin' second and sob in my lap!" Duo snapped finally. "I can't stand it! Just _say_ what you came to _say_ and let's get this _over_ with, Yuy," he ground out, twisting his head violently back around to burn a glare into the glittering surface of the duck pond, shooting daggers at the sleeping mallards disturbed by their voices.

"Alright. The judge told me that he really didn't want to give you the sentencing that he did, but circumstances didn't allow for anything less. You've seen the rioters, how furious the separatists and Anti-Nekos can get and you experienced first-hand just how ruthless some will be to make sure they can get their way. Judge Reimer has a family, Duo—he has children and grandchildren who stand to face the same kind of punishment you got just to get at Reimer himself if he acquitted you." Much to the surprise of Heero's hummingbird heart, Duo did not slit him from throat to gut when he couldn't hold back and reached out and laid a hand on his wrist, only twitched and tensed up. "But he had another option. The trial was so screwed up from the beginning—taking away all constitutional rights, putting a Neko on trial in the first place—that he's offering you an alternative sentence."

Duo didn't remove his arm and again turned to gaze blankly into those innocent but hardened blue eyes, expressionless. "And that _is_?"

"You'd have to serve out the rest of your life as a peace ambassador; you'd be obligated to all Neko-human relations and it would replace your life sentence in prison. The second life sentence would have to be carried out by your heir, but you would be free otherwise to live your life. He'd give you clemency, pardon all your crimes, and you'd be cleared of it all, Duo. You'd be free."

The hand snatched away coldly, matching the level, lifeless violet eyes that stared him back in the face, apparently unpleased. "But I'd be a slave to the government, wouldn't I? Their little beck-and-call bitch, someone to just sweep up the messy dilemmas they created, one of those messes being myself? Sell my soul to the people who harbored a man like Senator Peacecraft?" The one-eared Neko shook his head, feline ear pursed severely and his face reflecting it. "No. Thank you, but no way in Hell, traveler."

"But I'd be there," that _hienn_ voice whispered. "Do you think I'd leave you bear that burden by yourself?"

"Sorry to break it to you, but I'm not exactly all too friendly with humans anymore and I'm no politician," Duo drawled deceptively, finding himself suddenly withdrawing further and further behind the protection of a humorous, morose shell that was wilting and shrinking away, too exhausted to continue for much longer. The traveler had the most obnoxious habit of crawling beneath his skin as quiet as night and finding a nice chunk of muscle to cling to and his eyes had the even more obnoxious habit of becoming even more beautiful when they filled with grief and sorrow and begged him, begged him to reconsider in a way he could see truly hurt his pride to do so. But then again, he probably had broken all that pride long ago, along with the traveler himself.

"What about the mixed kids like you, Duo? How much would you have given for someone to have stepped in and changed the events that ruined your life? How many times did you wish that someone had before it could escalate into the murderous slaughter that it did?" He kept nudging closer, drawing like a magnet to his polar opposite but still deathly afraid of what would happen should he get too close and get shoved away again. Through it all, there was a voice in him telling him that he could only push him away and he could always try again. Duo was sorely and stubbornly underestimating his own stubbornness.

The bohemian gazed off into his memory for a second, revisited by ghosts and finding them just as haunting as the other times he had let them get at him. "I would have given anything and everything; I wished, I prayed, I cursed Death to take it back, change just one thing," Duo confessed heavily, his eyelids hanging low with heartache, but he shook his head a second later, moonlight suddenly glittering in his tightly-shut eyelashes. "But he didn't change it, Heero, and I'm stuck in this cycle. All I have left to do is finish it and do what's right, what I'm supposed to. I should have done it right, Heero. I should have shot Peacecraft and then shot myself right there on that stage and ended this fucking madness before it reached you, too. Those sins need to be repaid and I need to die, or how else do you expect my family's souls to reach anyplace good when they're weighed down so much by their son's sins?"

"You _can_ repay them. But you can't repay death with death; you can't make right out of two wrongs," Heero told him. "So please, take this chance, take it and run with it. You know how to run away, Duo, but you can't lie to yourself forever. Don't say you want to die and throw away your shot at redemption and don't say you'd leave me behind like that."

The con man snorted to himself as the rueful smile twisting his face tweaked painfully. "I run and hide, but I never tell a lie. That's Duo Maxwell in a nutshell," he recalled sadly. "Hah. I did bullshit myself more than anyone else, eh? But not anymore. To be honest, I'm getting sick of it."

Hopeful blue eyes followed that regretful, pathetic smile spread across the bohemian's face until it faded away like no more than a hallucination of summer heat. "But I can't do it, Heero."

"Just say you will anyway," he implored in return, wrapping the top of his hand over Duo's bloodied knuckles and the arm they turned white gripping fiercely. His bones shook terribly and Heero knew it wasn't from the warm summer night. "After all, if I had the guts to bet it all on what seemed like a lost cause and you to go on after a tragic event like the one you survived, then we can both accept this chance." The wearied human let his heavy breath out in a sigh and in a vulnerable impulse of his lonely, black-hole heart, he let his entire body slump and bowed his head down humbly until his forehead rested on the other man's shoulder. Even without his inhuman senses, Duo could hear him, with heartbreaking expression, whisper to him, "We can share the load, Duo. I'll take my share and more if you'll just take the first step and if you want, I'll leave you the hell alone, but I'll still be there to pick up what you can't carry and everything else you need me to. Break my back if need be, I'll be your beast of burden—_please_ just take it."

The warm, genuine sensation of the traveler falling to pieces against him, burying his face from the world, from Duo's misgivings and distrust in his very shoulder, grounded him painfully back to earth and took him out of whatever fantasy of righteousness and false sense of perseverance he had been clouded by. It took him back to sanity with a heavy hammer and clenching hand refusing to let his own go. And when he felt that weigh returning, a grounding, liberating weigh, he couldn't help but to sink into the traveler as well, burying his face in his unkempt hair and inhaling the scent of cheap hotel shampoo, bar smoke, distant alcohol, and saline coming off him. He indulged again in his forbidden fruit and felt weakness coming back and didn't give a shit about it.

He twisted his head to the side so he could whisper into the traveler's ear, "_Aiena_ _yaimo._ _Aiena_ a billion times, Heero, (1)" while dropping his folded arms to snake them around his neck. "I really suck at this trusting thing and I did all of this to you when you really didn't deserve any of my shit to deal with, none of it. I suck, and you should be put up for sainthood."

The traveler chuckled softly into Duo's shoulder and, with his hummingbird heart driven to a weightless euphoria by the feel of arms around his tired back, put his own tightly around the bohemian's shoulders. "I'm not going to say it wasn't hard; I'm not going to lie," he choked out lovably. "But it's worth doing, worth more than anything I've ever done. Even worth every time you were about to rip my head off and worth every hotheaded nickname you called me."

Duo chuckled genuinely as he held him, his breath ghosting along the edge of his sensitive _hienn_ ear, and a hand wandered from its place around his back to soothe back the hair in his eyes, running down the side of his face and drawing his eyes up to the bohemian's face. He squinted warmly at the blue eyes that had once haunted him and now haunted him even more, but this time in very _good_ way, and cracked a smile. "Names are just something other people give you, and I was a little edgy, so don't worry about them." He tilted his head, his baseball cap still askew at an almost boyish angle. "I've grown kind of attached to Traveler, though."

Heero responded with his own glowing smirk. "That's fine—if I can call you my Bohemian."

"Deal," Duo purred, teasing his fingers through a disheveled head of hair he'd longed to muss for an agonizingly long time. He paused when Heero clamped his hand down on his wrist again, this time as cautiously as if it were wrapped in barbed wire, and he pulled back to make sure he had the bohemian's full attention. For an instant, the fear had found its root in those blue eyes again; though diminished, it still was there.

"Then what's your answer?"

"Quit making those puppy-dog eyes at me and I'll make you a deal, how about? You get me buy me a house special steak dinner, medium rare, and I'll accept the judge's offer," Duo proposed toothily, his stomach giving off an appropriate imploring growl and chuckling. "I'd kill for something to eat right about now."

Heero joined him with his own anxious laugh. "Just don't," he joked, turning half a shade paler. "We're in enough trouble to last us a while."

They had separated from their comfortable slouching and Duo tossed an arm affectionately around the traveler's shoulder as they leaned back on the park bench, a situation that would have been an impossibly tense and flustered proposition only a few minutes ago. Out before them, the pond still glittered noiselessly and the sleeping mallards bobbed aimlessly through the reeds, oblivious to the stray cat that had slunk down to the edge of the water and drank inches away from them. The lion laid down with the lamb, and the human could put his arm around the Neko's waist without fear of losing it. Duo's moondrinking retinas shifted toward Heero's face, painted a sublime blue silver, and he lifted an eyebrow. "Us?"

An equally sublime smile crossed Heero's face. "Well," he murmured, a hint of blush turning ghostly violet over his cheeks. The bohemian laughed softly and found his drawn lips claimed suddenly and passionately by the traveler's and this time, he intertwined their fingers and drew him closer to give him a true taste of what he'd only sampled briefly one night in a gypsy's tent. Heero paused suddenly, his breath rushing between his parted lips with utmost caution and counting the one-eared Neko's eyelashes until his eyes drifted lazily open, a lounging, passionate violet. Without even a word, Duo answered his silent question by leaning up to make their lips meet again.

The stray cat prowling the slumbering park trotted off through the grass, slunk across the sidewalk, and disappeared somewhere into the city lights.

* * *

Sometime later on a dark, emptied one way in the south district a small black silhouette could be seen from a block away against the permeating orange glow caused by the streetlights and out of it two pair of legs sprawled out onto the edge of the street, one reclined and the other bent at the knees. Vega continued forward down toward that figure in the small green car he and his wife had recently bought and his curiosity had grown almost unbearable as he drew close enough to see hints of light on the figure. He pulled over to the abandoned sidewalk and let the engine rumble in park, with the image of Heero Yuy sitting on the curb and one exhausted Duo Maxwell dozing soundly with his back against his chest and hand clamped over the traveler's embracing arms illuminated in his headlights.

* * *

Nearing two o'clock in the city of Cinq, a sleeping metropolis oblivious to the fact that it's most nefarious criminal was calmly strolling the streets in his bare feet and baseball hat cocked slightly off-center, that green car was parked in the third parking space in front of a convience store. The industrial lights oozing out of the windows painted the sleepy streets a stark brightness in comparison to the rest of the city. That light reached in through the windshield to illuminate the faces of the three men sitting inside of it. The one sitting in the passenger seat was indeed that criminal, the half-Nekonese man the whole city had seemingly rallied behind sending to his death, happily inhaling the cheap hamburger he'd been given by the man in the driver's seat and reaching down to snatch up the milkshake he'd order along with it. Duo hesitated instinctively when he felt a pair of eyes on him and shifted his own upward, still slit in the darkness and reflecting silver at times, only to see Heero watching him in turn. Instead of filling with a flush, he only continued his protective vigilance with a tweak of a smile at the corner of his lip. He'd felt a little disappointed he couldn't get him the steak dinner he'd promised him, all vegan reservations aside, but Duo had insisted it only mattered if it was food. He flashed him a toothy smirk of days of old and dug back in to feed his withering hunger, one that had almost taken him to the edge of death that night.

There were no chopsticks and there was no sun in the sky to shine on the undulating grass, but it was just as, if not more beautiful as a more innocent day of the past to Heero, who suddenly felt a little bit of earth in his black-hole heart to settle his feet on.

* * *

"Man," a low voice moaned unhappily, echoing through the darkened corridor like an intruding ghost in a peaceful place. "I thought you guys loved me more than this," the shadow of Duo Maxwell joked as he reluctantly leaned against the cement wall beside his old cell, sniffing distastefully at the residue of blood and pure misery that taunted him from inside it. Through the darkness of the devil's hour, only he could see the long shallow, claw-shaped gashes in the wall and the lines of blood that dripped down from the tips. And there was another starburst of red on the sidewall drawn from his abused knuckles, and a bloodstained bar twisted jaggedly to one side in the sliding barred door. He chuckled in his uniquely morose charm. "But I guess it's a one-night stand kind of thing. Just toss me back in when you've had your fun with me, no harm, no foul done."

Vega could appreciate his morbid humor and laughed at it while he rummaged for his key in his pocket, still in his plainclothes and still avoiding his supervisor should she find out he'd played hookie on him and not only not being guarding their most dangerous convict but touring him around the city. "It's only probably for one more night, Duo. I'll inform Judge Reimer of your decision and you'll definitely be out by tomorrow, if not sooner. The press are going to have a field day when they find out you've pulled another Maxwell and come out scrape-free."

"Not to mention they'll be scared to death to know you're free to terrorize them again," Heero added from the opposite side of the deputy with a smirk and a certain radiant glow to his expression. "Maxwell's Demon walks from his own conviction and rides again. What a character."

"Sorry," Duo purred in return. "I think he'll be on hiatus for a while. But I'll be here to take his messages, you know."

The lock for the barred door, only one away from Duo's original holding cell, one still pocked with blood and freshly fragrant with the depression he'd been idling in, twisted with a protesting click and swung open. Unbeknownst to the authorities in the main section of the police department, only one corridor way, the infamous criminal they boasted custody of finally returned to his cell while the sky lightened gradually on another day. Only the judge who'd ordered him out for a breath of fresh air, worried about his well-being, and the guards Vega had called in with favors that had made themselves scarce for a while pretending to be on guard duty. He'd known them for a long time in the department and was sure to join them for a few last call drinks at an insomniac's bar, one that didn't close it's doors until the sleepless slept. He opened a cell for Duo, who was forced to return behind bars while by all laws he obeyed—his own conscience—he was a free man. This one had not been ripped apart by grief and misery and the bunkbeds rested soundly on the walls and the sink sat in the corner. Duo had sworn he wouldn't tear this one apart on a fit of rage, cross his heart, and hope to die, with a droll face and his hand on his chest. Vega smirked and told him he'd better just get inside before they all got caught.

Heero was standing to the side of the deputy and smiling as well when Duo turned to look at him, framed by the open frame of the cell door, and took his hand without a word and suddenly without that jester face. The traveler automatically hesitated, feeling as if something was suddenly wrong, when Duo asked in all seriousness, "Stay with me?" His hand squeezed once, pleading him, but Heero didn't loose an ounce of that quiet, simmering bliss in his eyes and let another radiantly sublime smile do the reassuring for him.

"Why would you think that I wouldn't?"

The unbridled joy and ardor in the bohemian's eyes turned to an instant pool of lust and Heero had no sooner felt his body being pulled forward than Duo's lips on his, claiming them for his own and doing it very assertively. He let himself be pressed up against the wall with a very grateful abandon and finally get a decent bohemian kiss, grunting from the sheer impassioned force Duo used and showed in showering his neck and hienn ears with inciting kisses and laughing wonderfully at it. He closed the gap between him and the bohemian again and Vega went chuckling down the corridor at an amble, soon to return to his wife, who had finally found her sleep muse, and slip in bed beside her with a warm little twist of the lips. Things could always be counted on to almost systematically and reliably get worse in the world, but for once there would be a fighting chance to defy that predestination.

So things were all the better.

* * *

(1) _Aiena yaimo_ I'm sorry.

A/N

I'd better be careful what I say. This is an important chapter, and now that I've actually finished it, I'm a little sad. It's akin to watching your child, the same child you raised and worked so hard to make good of, starting off on its own. The reason I'm getting so mushy on you poor readers is that I've never—you hear me, never!—gotten this far with a Gundam Wing story, or any story, really! And I feel pretty proud that did this chapter some justice and I actually finished it. That means I'll actually finish The One-Eared Neko. For a procrastinator who can lose interest in even very deserving stories that's a real accomplishment. Listen, to tell you the truth, I've been writing as long as I could remember and reading even before that, and I have a whole junkload of little stapled books from when I was five years old, all creative and all that—but not a single finished one. It's awesome (and I'm sorry you just about had to hear about my whole repressed childhood). Not that this story's finished yet, oh no. There's still another chapter left, people! I can't tell you how much all your response and your praise has pushed me along and given me inspiration to keep going, despite my inborn nature to move onto something else when difficulties arise. Readers are an unsung miracle, I tell you. Anyway, dry your eyes and I'll go start on the final chappy of Neko, though I might start bawling halfway through. If you're _still_ worried after all I've said and you haven't read my bio on FanFiction, there's a continuation (I hate the word, "sequel") in the works. Happy New Year!

The song is the very poignant and fitting, "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?". There's two versions, one by Nirvana, which is the one I prefer, or the original by Leadbelly. Either way, it's a very emotional song I think you should check out if you haven't already. It'll add a lot.


	26. PART 25 ORIGIN OF SPECIES

Part 25 ORIGIN OF SPECIES

Of the six dossiers that had been sitting on his desk Monday morning of that week, Duo regretted opening this one the most. The one that had opened up to reveal he had not been able to leave the ghosts of his past behind—the one that informed him that they, in fact, had a little reminder awaiting him in the sweltering forbidden of the Congo, and through a chaotic mess of memos, phone calls, and news media, had led him to his current situation. The bulky manila folder sat cradled on his knees, secured by his folded hands resting on top, and the exposed edges of paper were fluttering violently. Duo Maxwell sat in the backseat, buckled tightly, dressed as heavily as he could stand in the heat, and opposite of the young, blue-eyed Japanese man he'd once called the Traveler, what seemed an impossible time ago, off in a distant, murky carnival ground. One who held a little more exclusive title these days, but the unadorned gold band around his scarred ring finger could have told you that, had you looked closely enough.

Heero was looking out the cramped window to the left as well as he could with the wind cycling viciously in and out the open window, squinting while his hair tossed around in his face. His hand gripped around his knee anxiously, and as the bohemian watched him, he could see his nostrils flaring a little as the smell of burning substance wafted into the helicopter on the stuffy African winds. The helicopter jolted a little now and then, rattled a little in a way that would unnerve anyone, but Duo had faith it would hold out long enough without breakdown to last them the day and whatever else might come up. Supplies were still unreliable in many of these parts, and it'd been by stroke of bohemian luck they'd been able to acquire this one to escort them. Finding a pilot too, had taken a while, and all the while the smell of smoke had been growing stronger.

Still being bounced along by the winds, feeling awfully like a toddler in a defective car seat, Duo let out a sigh and looked away from the man sitting across from him. The winds and blades clouting the air overhead were too loud to yell over, and Heero was too engrossed in staring out the window to chat, anyway, watching the unbroken mass of green roll out below them. The one-eared Neko took another deep breath to regret and let the scent of smoke mull around in his senses. He had a feeling something more deliberate was awaiting him than just a cheerful bonfire, more than just some unidentified ruins' and unnamed remains.'

They didn't need to dance around the fact of the matter with obscure words—Duo knew it as much as he smelled it that they had found a massacred Nekonese village. Otherwise they wouldn't have gone through the trouble of calling him to the scene. The way things were now, leaking that information to the public in a careless way could light a very dangerous fuse—Anti-Neko supporters and radicals alike would leap on the chance to glorify the event as a necessary purging, and Duo knew that there would be others like him, ready and willing to fight back the more they were pushed by said radicals. He may have felt that he needed to assassinate Senator Peacecraft to pay for the damage he'd done, but he knew how little anybody needed a war and he understood he'd made a mistake when he'd been too blinded by rage and despair at the moment to realize, or even care.

Of course, he thought, with a little snort, he had to care now. He'd be more of a fool than he had been before not to. He was the one in the spotlight, in the public eye in danger of assassination these days, and somewhere out of sight a young punk like himself might be plotting to kill him as well. A little ironic, considering he'd set out to kill the Senator and in process found himself an ambassador instead. And Peacecraft was still alive, though he was more reluctant to advocate the Anti-Neko movement out loud now that the man who had schemed to kill him for it could often be found sitting across from him at national peace summits, smirking at him and deliberately toying around with the glossy Ambassador nameplate stationed in front of him.

They needed no map to locate their destination, they simply followed the smoke to its source, a patch of the Congo less densely forested in the valley formed by the rolling hills on either side. The sun had risen high enough to drive away the mists hanging over the trees and Duo could crane his neck just enough to catch glimpses of the first to arrive on the scene pacing between piles of rubble through the breaches in the thinned-out canopy.

The helicopter turned and the whirl of blades over head began to slow, the one-eared Neko and the blue-eyed traveler each gluing their attention to the windows, and the smell of smoke grew so strong it began to sting the inside of Duo's nose. But the strength of it wasn't reason for the sudden scowl he made, it was knowing what it was from. He could smell it now—a scent most would take for the smell a steak roasting on the grill but to Duo it was unmistakable. It was one he'd known and experienced before in an all too real way.

The heavy thudding of the blades cutting air slowed more and more until the whirring of the rudder faded away with a whine and the helicopter rested completely on the ground, the thick grasses around the square of dirt cleared for landing still lashing in the wind as it died down. From the cramped helicopter windows, the one-eared could see the tents, most of which had taken years or even decades of battering jungle wear, scattered beneath the canopy, scattered between individual piles of smoking, black rubble. Men and women crowded around the burnt ruins, fanning the smoke from their faces, covered in ashes and their hands blackened with soot as they pulled fragments of arrowheads and clay from them. Others buzzed back and forth like industrious bumblebees, the charred ashes on their clothes their stripes, carrying clipboards there, cameras here, and plastic bags of fire-salvaged items to superiors, who scrutinized them and scribbled on notepads. Despite the working environment, the generally serene chatter hanging in the air, and the light conversations going on in groups around the tents, eating lunches over tiny gas stoves, it didn't change the fact it was a war-zone to Duo. The smell of blood saturating the air so thick he felt he could physically touch it did not signify an expedition picnic to him.

The door swung open and Duo followed Heero as he jumped down from the rim of the helicopter and his boots landed in a swarm of ants converging on a scrap of meat. He stepped over it without a second _hienn_ consideration—Duo made a conscious effort to go around the slice of Nekonese skin festering on the ground and followed his husband as he rushed out to the group of men clustered near the main tent, awaiting them.

Some of their faces seemed vaguely familiar to him as he came closer. After all, there were only so many dignitaries in the world and it sure felt like he'd met them all and tried to catalogue each of them in a new space in his brain just for public affairs. If he had been told he was going to be an ambassador before he had even met the traveler, he would have scoffed at it. He hadn't even planned on living past his assassination attempt; to picture this scene would have been impossible. Duo swept the papers under his arm to free it up for the initiating handshakes as they finally neared the group of men, horribly out of place in the jungle in their crisply laundered suits. He felt a little embarrassed that he and Heero were in shorts or khakis and tank tops in comparison—Northern Nekonese skin didn't sweat very well—and he'd been caught with his appearance down. Being an ambassador for a week would teach you that lesson, always to be preened for the cameras. But that feeling passed as soon as they met and business was pushed to the front of all their minds. Heero stepped aside and let Duo mingle professionally with all the officials gathered there, giving each a firm handshake and listening to them introduce themselves briefly. He recognized one of them from a visit he'd paid just recently to Eastern Europe and he could smell the charisma reeking off him from meters away. Yeah, he remembered this politician.

"Ambassador Maxwell," Khushrenada greeted cordially, the twist in his smile very much sincere. "It's a pleasure to see you and your husband again, well and rested."

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Treize, while I'm well and rested," Duo replied with an equal smirk, pumping his hand once in a friendly handshake. "Though I kind of hoped we could have met over lunch or something instead. This place is a little morose, even for my tastes."

"Yes, I agree. But there's always a next time, Ambassador," the tall auburn man answered with a smile. "I'd be more than happy to have the both of you, your husband and yourself, to my home for a proper home cooked meal. I assure you I am an even better cook than I am a politician."

Duo beamed slyly. "I don't know—is that saying much?"

Khushrenada leaned back and clapped a hand on the shorter man's shoulder with a hearty laugh, one that filled your ears to hear it and your mind with a solid assurance. "You do have a quick notoriously quick tongue, perhaps only surpassed by the speed as your sleight of hand."

"Ha. You'd be right," the one-eared Neko said, his feline appendage pursing happily against his head, "But not anymore. I don't steal anymore—that's just a hobby."

"Is that on the record?"

"You tell me, Treize. And didn't I tell ever tell you the name's Duo—Duo Maxwell-Yuy?" He glanced brightly over to the traveler standing beside him, a smirk on his lips, and put an arm over Heero's shoulders where it utterly belonged and often longed to be during the long and tedious meetings. "I don't think I ever got to introduce myself properly to you the last time we met, at the Lithuanian Summit, did I?"

"No, I don't think so," the imposing politician said with a smirk, resting his hands in the pocket of his dignified blue overcoat, decorated in elaborate gold trimmings resembling those of a decorated admiral. "But I can see why—Ambassador Duo Maxwell-Yuy might be a mouthful for the non-English press."

Duo laughed happily and was forced to take his arm from his husband's shoulders when the rest of the politicians began to descend upon him, absorbing him with the task at hand. They talked as they walked, Treize striding at the one-eared Neko's side and the rest trotting a few steps ahead, moving their hands animatedly as they spoke. As he often did when his husband went to work, Heero tried to unobtrusively fade into the background and simply watch Duo protectively, allow him to work—but Duo hated the feeling of the traveler dropping back like he hadn't earned his spot beside him when he most definitely had. Duo had always told him it was stupid to put him up on a pedestal like that, knowing at the same time it probably would not pierce his humbleness, and took his husband by the hand, requiring him to come along at his side.

The politicians informed him briefly of the few facts that were known of the site—it'd happened only the morning, the afternoon beforehand and there appeared to be no survivors. Bodies had been found disembodied and mutilated almost beyond recognition in the surrounding jungle, as well as in the ashes and scattered around the camp in various hiding places, knives in their bellies or bullets between their eyes. Some of those bodies had been burned where they'd fallen, as well as nearly every hut in the area. One had been found completely demolished, knocked to the ground, and there had been pieces of fingernails and blood in long tracks from when the person hiding beneath the wreckage was pulled out against their will. There were signs that many others had been bodily dragged from their hiding places, and the marks of persons being forcibly taken all led to one central location, the place that Duo and Heero were quickly approaching, watching billows of dark grey ash choke the air.

Of all the scents he'd ever picked up with his Nekonese sense of smell, this one was by far the worse. Not only because of it's sickening, festering smell, but because it could only mean one thing and it brought back a memory that had driven him to murder. Heero could smell it, though not as well, and appreciate it for the horrible sensation it was, but he couldn't feel a rage coming up in his stomach like it was in his husband's when they stopped before the massive bonfire and watched the hundreds of Neko and human bodies burn. They stood as close as they dared, with the ashes of murder victims rising into the air, and beneath their feet were dried blood stains and remainders claw marks in the dirt and before them the villagers themselves burning. The smell of human and Neko skin chewed away at by a undiscriminating fire in turn chewed away at all who stood close enough to see the form of hands almost literally melting away. The horror on all the faces was reigned in by a shared politically stony face, one that kept them all from letting their true disgust shine through and possibly emptying a few stomachs in the bushes before the day was through. Beside Duo, while his hand shook out of rage, still clasped protectively by Heero's, the tall Khushrenada stood and surveyed the fire, not for the first time by the resignedly appalled expression.

"This is sick," Duo hissed in the face of the horrible silence that came over them. For all the warning he'd had, seeing this display stirred him up inevitably and his voice dripped with fury.

"Yes," Treize agreed calmly, his disgust in his even, unemotional tone. "Yes, it is. And this has been burning for approximately for forty-hours, by the earliest sightings of smoke, but unfortunately no one was able to reach this location for a day and put a end to this horrible massacre."

"So who ever did this must have stoked it before they left." A cold poison had entered Duo's voice—something he very, very rarely let slip out of emotion while doing his ambassador work. His hand squeezed Heero's like a vice grip and his teeth ground in the back of his mouth while he tried to keep from remembering the sensitive details of his own encounter with a bonfire of this horror. "Does anyone know who did this?"

"No," the dignitary answered solemnly. "Whoever did commit this atrocity this made very sure that they would not be so easily followed. The evidence had been handled completely with some sort of glove that prevented leaving any fingerprints for identification. Those that were left, whether on accident on not has not been determined, were far too smudged to be recognized."

"They're probably taunting you and your team. I wouldn't doubt they feel sickly proud of what they've done," Duo analyzed succinctly, his violet eyes narrowing and his hand separating from his husbands to pick up a stone from the earth covered in dried _Dires_ blood and knead it in his hand. "I know they're taunting me with this fire," he said quietly, folding his hand over the stone and glaring back up at the flames. "I hate to admit it, but those bastards know how to cut to the quick."

"Ambassador Maxwell, if you're feeling uncomfortable or too emotional to keep your composure, you're more than welcome to take my jeep for an early return to Kimbasa," Treize offered without a second thought. "My men and I will be more than happy to handle this situation completely—"

"No, no thank you, Treize," Duo waved off with an anemic smile. "This is something I need to deal with. This is what I became an ambassador for—You don't need to worry about burdening yourself with all of this. It's my responsibility."

"I understand."

"Have you been able to put out any of the fire?"

"We've been trying, but it seems they soaked it with a flammable liquid that's nearly impossible to extinguish once lit and will burn nearly anything given the time."

"Including bones," Duo guessed grimly, his _ikkunnoi_ flattened severely.

"Gasoline?" Heero asked, still staring grimly at the flames and trying not to lose his stomach watching the bloody forms amassed like bodies at a concentration camp.

"I would have smelled the gasoline from miles away. No, they used something natural, I can tell," Duo said, his suspicious stare narrowing, still watching the towering flame. "Has any one been able to contact Senator Peacecraft and inform him of this?"

"No, Senator Peacecraft is currently unavailable to speak; he's visiting a hospital for his father's heart operation. He won't be available for a few days at least." Khushrenada was also starting to show signs of compassionate sympathy and disgust seeping through his bright and polite expression. "He has provided a contact that may be used in times like these, if he needs to receive information exclusively, and we're currently setting up a line that will reach him from here."

"Well, that's convenient," Duo drawled in detest.

In the months that had passed since Duo had entered the politician world, more on an obligation than by choice, he'd been popular, yes, but he'd also been careful to keep all the details of how and why he'd come to be what he was a topic he didn't bring up much during meetings. Talking about his family had been slaughtered and therefore eventually leading him to sit beside and rub elbows with heads of state of countless countries and other dignitaries usually killed the mood. Sure, those who had followed him on the news as a criminal case knew, but it surprised him how many had not actually followed along, engrossed with their own work and sometimes just never turning the channel at the right time. Treize was one of those who vaguely could attach the one-eared Neko's face with the much-famed name Maxwell's Demon, but hadn't heard the dark story that had birthed him.

"Ambassador, are you suspecting Senator Peacecraft of having something to do with it?"

"No, I suspect him of doing everything but taking up a baseball bat himself and killing a few, that's what I think. If he did it once, it means unfortunately he can and just might do it again." His violet eyes were simmering quietly, glittering from the spark of the flames towering before him and from a deep resentment coming to burn again. "But I don't know. If it had been his little legion of devoted soldiers, this whole place would have been torched to get rid of evidence. I know they would not have left a chance to screw up." His cat-slit eyes narrowed distrustfully. "But they _didn't_ screw up. That's what worries me."

"The death count, currently, is somewhere in the range of thirty-eight human beings and forty mixed persons. That's only the bodies we found that had not been taken to this incinerator or sorts. My men have estimated that somewhere near one-hundred-fifty to two-hundred were taken here and burned," Treize informed him gravely. "There's been no sign of survivors."

"If there were any, they'd be long gone by now," Duo murmured. "I barely had the heart to stay long enough to bury my parents and I had to run to avoid the soldiers for the second time, when they did sweeps of the forest looking for the scum they missed."

The loud crackling of the flame eating through things no one wanted to think of loomed over the silence, while it was destroying what had once been the population of the only Equatorial village known in existence, discovered only when it had been destroyed, and in one mocking gesture plunging them into true extinction. After a long and tense moment, Treize bowed his head respectfully and suggested politely that they should continue their conversation in another place and said that the ambassador and his husband must be hungry from their long ride. Heero nodded in thanks and was about to follow the dignitary and the rest of the politician to the main tent when Duo remained planted where he stood, his eyes lost in the flame.

He clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Duo? Are you alright?"

The one-eared Neko remained stone still where he stood, focused completely on the horrific fire before him and the smell of blood and burning flesh obsessing his mind. But the severe, suspicious and generally pissed expression he'd worn while trying to figure out if it had been another act of the Senator faded into something else very quickly. His _ikkunnoi_ pricked forward at some sound and his eyes widened soon after that. He shrugged off Heero's hand by stepping forward, almost as if disbelieving what his senses had told him, and suddenly went about throwing off the tank top he wore and stuffing it in Heero's surprised hands.

"Duo? What the hell are you doing?" he asked, drawing the attention of Treize and the others, who had gone halfway down the slope to the encampment, and staring incredulously at his husband.

But the ex-con didn't say a word—he was far too busy hurrying to sloppily tie his budding braid of hair up against his head and striding toward the monstrous fire.

"Duo!"

And going headfirst into it. As much as it disgusted him, how much it stung at a wound in his heart to push the ashes and smoldering bones out of the way, he pushed forward inexplicably, clawing his way through the mass. The charred bodies and what was left of them tumbled to the ground, still hissing and with flame, and Duo grit his teeth determinedly just before he dove almost completely into the burning, blistering hell. Heero was already behind him and snapping at him, more confused and secretly terrified of just what the hell his husband was doing, but did not reach after to stop him. He could trust Duo, but the innate worry in him could not overlook that he'd just jumped into a fire. The footsteps of the politicians returning came back up the hill, considerably faster than when they had left.

"Ambassador Maxwell!" Treize said incredulously.

In an instant, Duo had lunged back out from the fire, moving so quickly that he staggered backwards into Heero and stumbled on his feet, something extremely rare for even a half-breed Neko. He coughed violently once and scratched the steaming hot coals and ashes off his face frantically with one are, the other clutched desperately around a small, wretched figure—a small, wretched, _yowling_ figure. Heero exclaimed wordlessly in surprise and quickly slapped the ashes of Duo before they began to burn into his skin, leaving him chalked in charred black. Coughing again, and with a toddler-sized mixed Nekonese kit yowling and sobbing against his chest, clinging to him so fiercely his fingernails were drawing blood, he collapsed almost completely against Heero, overwhelmed with a flash of heat from the fire. The tiny soot-black kitten cried, clung to his savior, but at the same time struggled to get free of his arm, so frightened his terrified screaming didn't cease. Suspicious trails of smoke still wafted off his bare skin and the ragged remains of clothing that had managed to stay on his slight frame.

He staggered still, even as Heero held him upright, and his coughing continued, his entire body still feeling molten and agonized. He tried to steady himself and pull the Nekonese kitten he'd salvaged from the fire off him. "Come on, he needs helps," he choked out before coughing again, feeling like he might have accidentally inhaled some ashes. His face was scuffed with black and turning fierce red in other places from burns. His hair was equally blackened. "Take him, Heero!"

The other men and Treize were soon clustered tightly around Duo and one quickly pried the young survivor off the ambassador. His tiny, charred hands left bright red marks of blood where they'd clutched desperately at his savior and Duo automatically slumped back once the child had been whisked off for immediate medical attention, naturally falling back into the arms of the traveler when his head spun viciously. The heat had been immense, fire licking at him as he came close, and the fumes from the unidentified fueling liquid had been sickening and noxious. He felt himself being twisted around, his eyes squinting shut while his eyes still stung from the heat, and Heero's voice came to him amongst the sudden outburst of commotion around him.

"Are you alright?" His hand was carefully brushing the soot from his face and touching at the minor burn marks he'd received. Beneath those fingertips he felt his skin starting to already knit itself well. "Duo, what the hell were you thinking?"

"He might have died soon—I heard him crying, I couldn't leave him there—" He coughed again and wished he wasn't too stubborn to ask for some water while Heero helped steer him back down the hill. "Shit. You shouldn't be worried about me, I'll be fine. He's only a year old, and he's the one who's been in there for who knows how long."

Against the silhouette of smoke rising off the burning death of hundreds that had been happily living only days before, the bohemian slumped needily against the traveler, trying to brush off the concern while still clutching to his shirt, with a trail of blood from the tiny claw marks dripping down his bare stomach. Heero chuckled anxiously as he guided Duo toward the nearest tent, whispering to him that he'd really scared the shit out of him back there and making the one-eared Neko laugh tiredly as well.

* * *

It was an odd sight, an image that was almost difficult for Duo Maxwell, even with Heero Yuy standing at his side. Not even the traveler could erase the grim memories that had shaped the ex-criminal in his early days, the smell of blood and death that still came to him at times, unbidden, and to watch the young, shivering mixed Neko standing with a blanket thrown over his shoulder, falling to the floor around him, and keeping back a tearfully frightened expression with little success reminded him too much of himself. The only difference was he had had no one to comfort him, to heal his wounds, and certainly had seen no kind-hearted humans as these medics who attended him that could have softened his harsh distrust of the _hienn_ race. It stung, in a jealous way, that he had suffered in a ditch, sobbing wildly but desperate to keep quiet should someone wonder by and run him through with a knife or put a bullet in his stomach; he felt suddenly jealous that this survivor would not have to hide in the forests, fearing for his life both from the soldiers and from the looming threat of starvation, that he would not grow up angry, vengeful, and hopelessly crushed by his mistrust. But he was glad too—the last thing the world needed was another Duo Maxwell looking for retaliation and the last thing that poor kid deserved was a life like his.

He wasn't a slight thing as Duo had been when he'd slunk, orphaned and scared to death of dying alone, out of the forest when the last soldier had left—he looked like he'd just had a fresh dinner of boiled meat and he'd never gone hungry, though by no standard was he overweight. His tiny hands were shivering nervously as he held him close to him, cautious of the human doctors who were carefully tending to his burns on his face. His radiant, sun-blonde hair and broad, cinnamon-color _ikkunnoi_ suggested he was indeed an Equatorial and the slaughter of his village might very well make him the last existing one of his race. His skin was marred with burns and charcoal caked into his skin as well as the marks of an abusive soldier's fist about his face and head. While the doctors bustled around him, scrounging up a burn treatment from the supplies they'd brought along and attempting to soothe him all the while, trying in vain to wipe the tears from his young, bright blue eyes. When the young Equatorial glanced up and caught eyes with the two men standing in the opening of the tent, one a familiar scent and sporting a familiar feline appendage, they were blank and almost forlorn, sadly unjust to the capacity for joy they must have once held. But there was an underlying intelligence to it all that preserved in the face of great emotional devastation and one that made Duo's heart almost skip to see it.

He suddenly had to ask this child's name, to know the kitten he'd rescued from the fire and the one with the eyes of comprehension and quiet grace even in the face of death. One who'd survived the same dilemma as him and came out seemingly sadly noble and dignified for it. The doctors stepped aside to allow Duo room to crouch near the patchy, soot-black Equatorial, who was sitting on the edge of a medical cot, his blue eyes watching everything and the tears already ebbing bravely. He smelled, other than of smoke and blood, nearly purely Neko, but the two perfect human ears offset that. He couldn't have been more than a year old or more than a tenth _hienn_. And with his golden blonde hair and those intelligent eyes he seemed strangely beautiful, the ones that locked onto Duo's face, quickly able to tell him apart from the rest of the humans by the familiar _ikkunnoi._

As was a tradition of Neko when greeting someone of respect, the tiny Nekonese kitten, while his burns and cuts were still being tending to, flattened his own feline ears back humbly and bowed his head slightly. Duo smiled warmly and returned the gesture as best he could with the one he had left. The kitten's intelligent eyes stared at his absent _ikkunnoi_ and bowed again, a gesture reserved only for when addressing a nobly wounded Warrior. Duo was honestly surprised the child knew it, and flattered and proud at all the same time. He'd saved a very special kit and nothing but kindness came through his smile.

"_Yiinnme, oina emtu_," he said warmly. (Hello, little one.)

"_Yii_," the little one replied quietly. (Hi.)

"_Ru dukkeinrou qui ne hyerra aakinoi, bu ne? Yoe rou?_" (You look like a tough little guy, don't you? How are you doing?)

"_Suo maki, dinme,_" he responded respectfully, his voice slightly worn from the formidable yowls he'd been giving off a few minutes ago. (I'm fine, I think.)

Duo affectionately scratched his cinnamon-furred ear and smiled again, nodding. "_Aan. Wo, ri ejihubo su, oina emtu?" _(That's good. So, what's your name, little one?)

"_Rekke suo Quatre_." (I'm Quatre.)

"_Ne tre qui ia su wo?" _("Beloved son," huh?)

The blue-eyed Equatorial's eyes dimmed of their shining intelligence to be clouded momentarily with a doubt and tearful fear more typical of an average frightened kit, one more like the expression Duo had worn when he had experienced a similar horror. "_Kukken—Ikkue yem qo rebu syiere uechin. Subu ne tre som umm-oina yem qo." _(Yes—but now I have no parents. I am the son of no one now.)

_"Cuchikyo bu de!_" Duo said firmly, still comforting the poor child with a hand stroking his charred hair and broad, young feline ears. He slipped from his native tongue for a moment, swept by a flush of sudden emotion and a sudden brilliance to the memories of his own slain family. "That's not true at all," he repeated firmly. "You are always your mother and father's son, no matter what happens to you in life. That's one thing I know you can't run away from, and you should honor their memory just the same."

"But I did not help them," Quatre suddenly whispered in English, following suit of Duo's shift of tongues.

"You can already speak _hienn_?" the one-eared Neko marveled, his hands stilling against the back of the radiant blonde head, scorched black in ugly patches by a hateful fire, and staring into those intelligent but saddened blue eyes. The Equatorial nodded humbly and Duo's smile stretched broad. "Well, you're even smarter than I thought, Quatre. That's a wonderful accomplishment for someone your age. I didn't learn mine until I was three!"

"Thank you," the kitten whispered humbly, his intelligent eyes falling shyly down to the ground while a doctor lifting his bangs to examine the burn there.

Duo inched closer on his haunches so that, once the wound had been attended to and the rapid Nekonese healing process had begun to knit the skin together unseen, he could ruffle the young child's hair affectionately, anything to sympathize with little one who had gone through the same trauma as himself. Heero stood faithfully at Duo's side, leaning against a support pole and smiling softly as he watched protectively. The young, blue-eyed Neko twisted to face Duo as he soothingly petted his hair and it was obvious to see that intelligent gaze had already begun to work on the ex-con.

"Listen," he said quietly, the doctors hovering back to allow the ambassador the undivided attention he needed from the surviving Equatorial. "I know how difficult this has been for you, Quatre, but can you tell me who did this to your village? Can you tell me what happened?"

The tiny Neko bit at his lip apologetically and shook his head. "Someone hit my head and I don't remember anything until I felt fire and then your hand pulling me out of it."

"That's alright, Quatre. I won't force you to remember if you can't," Duo commended him, flashing him a genuine smile. "You should be proud of yourself that you made it out alive." When the kit made a sorrowful look in his direction, he softened his voice. "You see, I went through the same thing you did at about the same age. That's why I'm here now. I'm trying to find who did this to your family and your village. I'll make sure they get punished for what they've done."

"Is that how you lost your ear?"

Duo nodded.

"I'm—I'm sorry for you," Quatre said, his intelligent eyes scanning the older Neko's face. "This doesn't feel good at all," he grumbled pitifully at the end, bowing his head heavily and wrapping his arms around his elbows, still dressed in tatters beneath the blanket. "It's awful. I don't think it shouldn't happen to any more people."

Duo smiled gently and scratched once more at his endearing cinnamon _ikkunnoi _before lifting his hand to gently pat his head. "You're right. But now I think you should get some sleep. You probably feel as tired as I must look." He chuckled to himself and let the nurse standing nearby scoop him up in a boneless, exhausted bundle of skin and bones. Just before he was carried off to a neatly made cot in another cot, further from the horrifying stench of bodies burning, Duo winked at him with a smile and the drowsy, intelligent blue eyes smiled back as best they could. "_Reicha-ri_," he said. (See you later.)

"_Reicha-ri_," Quatre returned, scrapping up enough energy to tug the corners of his mouth into a little, innocent smile before he snuggled back against the nurse's chest and tried to sleep while she carried him away and out of the medical tent. The rest of the doctors, robbed of their only patient and with no other survivors to tend to, began carefully reorganizing all the supplies they'd plucked out back into their kits and talking sociably with each other, hardly mindful of the traveler and the bohemian remaining near the medic cot. The smell of burning flesh was becoming accustomed too, and not even the doctors noticed it anymore. It had permeated the tent, brought by the rescued kit and the ambassador who'd dove into the fire to retrieve him from the arms of death. After all, Duo felt Death owed him _something_, at least, despite cheating it not even a year ago in a little metropolis called Cinq City.

Heero remained tethered to Duo's side by a hand that had clasped his on impulse alone—his husband was far too immersed in a harrowing memory to even move and there he stood, gazing off into a burning village of his own, miles away in his mind. His intertwined fingers clenched suddenly, desperately, enough to nearly asphyxiate the traveler's hand, and Heero knew that Duo had reached an unpleasant point in his flashback. But hell, what part of that slaughter had been even the least bit pleasant? He twisted his hand free of Duo's death grip and clasped it over the back of his hand, rubbing his fingertips over Duo's tensed knuckles. Leaning onto his shoulder so that his chocolate brown hair brushed over his husband's _hienn_ ears, Heero drew him out of his trance and away from the sight of murders burned into his mind of younger, darker days.

"Duo," he whispered. "Earth to Duo. Come back to me, my bohemian."

Eventually, his violet eyes stirred with their normal life and turned toward Heero with a mild confusion, like waking from a shallow dream. "Hmm?" he hummed casually, trying to feign as if it'd never happened, as if he hadn't been caught dreaming darkly again in the broad daylight. Heero lifted his head from his shoulder but did not move away from him, watching the expression on Duo's face shift to hide the fact he'd let memory consume him again and nightmares were sure to follow that night. "What? What is it?"

When Heero didn't speak, only raised an eyebrow slightly in the face of his forced nonchalance, he sighed and let his eyelids droop. "I know, I know I shouldn't—"

The traveler gently guided an arm around Duo's back and his hand twisted up to touch the growing braid a little while he gave him a good, slow, comforting kiss to wipe the careworn expression off his face. He didn't care of who was watching them, he only cared of the bohemian he loved and over the time he'd actually been allowed to see the truth in the con man, the humanity in a half-breed, he'd grown out of some of his self-consciousness and learned to show his affection when not even completely alone. It was something Duo enjoyed and often needed during the wearing work days, but had taken a lot of coaxing of the shell for Heero to accomplish. A lazy smile had wound its way onto Duo's mouth when Heero pulled away and some of the memory had faded, at least for the moment.

At the same time, the fabric of the tent door peeled open and the tall figure of Khushrenada was bent beside it, his universally congenial face peering inside. "Ambassador Maxwell," he said, remaining at the door, "I'm sorry to call you to work, but there are some things that we need to discuss urgently."

"Yeah, I understand. I'll be right there," he nodded, too comfortable at the moment to unwind himself from the traveler or pull away from him; rather he groaned into the crook of his husband's neck unhappily and forced himself to let go of Heero. "Duty sounds her bugle once again," Duo drawled and they both chuckled.

They gave each other one last peck of the lips before separating and walking over the unlevel grass floor beneath their feet to the door. Duo was inevitably swept off into his affairs, and he cursed mentally ever agreeing to becoming a politician when he hardly had the sheer emotional and mental stamina to be such a thing, hiking up a hill beside Treize, talking with him about a very serious topic, and kneading at a knot in his back with a hand all at once.

* * *

Heero watched the fire, raging on proudly, with no intention of waning soon, and the beautiful sparks it sent up against the black sky once the sun had slipped out of sight. Sparks that were burning ashes that had once been a family, a village, and an entire clan and now twirled around weightlessly on the breeze. He couldn't smell the horrible pungency of death as strongly as Duo, but he still could, and he was grateful he didn't have a nose as keen as his husband's, standing there, watching the men and women of the camp still doggedly throwing water onto the fire and achieving little. Weary of staring into the flames, Heero turned and started to trek off for bed, heading uphill and upwind of the bon fire. As he walked far enough up the incline, stepping through untamed brush on his way toward the tent nestled further up, he could see the charming dignitary Treize Khushrenada gazing deeply into the flames as well, turning his auburn hair a fiery red and painting his regal face similar. He caught sight of Heero walking by out of the corner of his eye and smiled at him respectfully.

"Have a good night's rest, Mr. Maxwell-Yuy," he bid him politely.

"Thanks. You too, Mr. Khushrenada," Heero said, pausing in his uphill trek. "Don't stare into the fire too long, now. I couldn't do it for too long—it'll wear out your eyes."

"Thank you for that advice." He smirked, folding his arms casually and turning his gaze back to the crackling flames. "I was just thinking deeply, that's all."

"That's the tiring part," Heero chuckled and with a final, saluting nod to the dignitary, the traveler was on his way towards the dark, meager little tent that had been set up, cradled by jungle and safely upwind of the smell of burning flesh. In concern of Duo, he'd requested that they be able to set up their own sleeping quarters away from any breeze that might carry the scent of death to their tent.

And also keeping that concern in mind, Heero crept into the tent in utmost silence, knowing that his husband would be dead asleep after a long day of political dealings and terrorizing memories. Sure enough, as soon as he slunk through the fabric door and tied it close behind him, he saw the one-eared Neko dreaming on the narrow cot to the right, sprawled across it as if he'd simply fallen asleep where he'd fell. It wouldn't have surprised Heero. His face softened with a tender smile while he watched Duo lay there, doused in a drowsy blue shade of shadow, utterly exhausted by the day once again. He hardly even moved in his sleep—usually he could be counted on to kick the covers off, or mutter in Nekonese in his sleep—and the traveler decided not to disturb him. The person who had provided them furniture and a portable gas stove to furnish their sleeping quarters had brought two of the confined cots and Heero threw a pillow onto the left one, separated from Duo's by only a foot-wide spread.

Birds twittered sleepily outside the tent and the occasional wondering animal or warm breeze would rustle the thick foliage surrounding them, though Heero wasn't bothered to worry. The moon had crept out into its lonesome throne of stars and the khaki fabric of the tent was splashed with the shadows of the trees rustling overhead, giving it an odd, midnight in the garden sensation but appropriately beautiful to watch the one-eared Neko slumber, his hair undone and his face buried into his arm, spread out on his stomach. His singular _ikkunnoi_ twitched instinctively, a sleepy habit more than sign of wakefulness.

Heero watched how the bluish light seeping through painted Duo's bare shoulders with a sigh, wishing he were as deathly silent as his husband so that he could slip in with him without waking him, without alerting those inhuman senses. But he was content to be there with Duo, at any rate; after all, there'd been a horrible dark point in his life where he couldn't have imagined seeing the bohemian alive again, let alone coming home to him every night and his genuine smiles. He felt fine watching over Duo while he slept, though he craved to lay there with him. He snatched up a blanket from underneath his own cot and spread it out, standing in the thin corridor between the two beds, and began to kick off his boots and peel off his shirt. He jolted suddenly when he heard a drowsy voice from behind him. Duo gave him a soft, "Hey," blinking the sleep from his eyes unsuccessfully, sitting up on the cot, and squinting at the traveler. "What do you think you're doing, eero?" His voice was gravelly and worn from all the politic chitchat of the day.

Heero turned around, his shirt halfway pulled off his back, and said quietly, "Nothing. I didn't want to wake you up."

"'s not a problem," he grumbled drowsily. "I can't quite make it to Dreamland, so don't worry about it. Now, what do you think you're doing over there?" The traveler had neatly nudged his boots beneath the opposite cot with his baretoes and tossed his shirt into a chair sitting at the foot of the bed. Duo's lethargic gaze blinked semi-awake and his cat-slit eyes, glowing lightly as if filled with violet embers in the moonlight, narrowed at the traveler's bare back.

"Don't even think about sleeping _there_, traveler," he said with a lazy drawl, reaching up to put his arm around Heero's stomach and pull him back toward him. His wearied face pressed against the warmth of his back and he clenched him tighter, his breath rolling over his skin. "You wouldn't be bothering me if you woke me up, you idiot, I'm your husband. I married you because I wanted to sleep next to you every night. In fact, that ring on your finger makes it my _right_ to. Now get your skinny ass over here and get in bed with me, where you belong."

The traveler chuckled richly, so that Duo could feel it resonating through his whole body from his comfortable position kissing his back, and turned around to face the bohemian. "That's why? And here I was convinced you only married me for my money," he whispered slyly, while the one-eared Neko nuzzled yearningly against his stomach in the same half-waking manner, still dragging him down to the cot with an arm around his back.

"Ha. I don't need no money; I need you," he slurred drowsily. "Wait a minute, hold up. What's the password, traveler?"

Heero chuckled and busied the once-thieving bohemian's mouth with a kiss while he slipped into bed beside him, stealing his way beneath the blanket Duo had tried to hog to himself. Duo snorted when they parted and said, as the traveler turned over onto his side and the one-eared Neko wrapped possessively around his back, "That's good enough for me." After a moment of getting situated comfortably, he rested his head against Heero's neck and inhaled sleepily, savoring the moments he could catch the natural intoxicating aroma of his _hienn_ lover beneath his cologne and shampoo.

The traveler clasped his hands comfortably over the bohemian's arms, pinioning him into a warm, pleasurable tangle of limbs. "Are you alright, Duo?"

"Yeah," he whispered back lazily, nuzzling his face into his shoulder, hoping to uncover an expressway to deep, gorgeous sleep there. "I'm fine, I'm peachy, whatever you want to call it."

"Can you still smell the fire?" His fingers toyed softly with Duo's as he spoke quietly, with the buzzing of the dozing forest swelling around them and making a vibrant kind of silence.

A tingling short breath brushed over the back of the young Japanese man's neck as the ex-con gave a little, morbid snort. "That smell of burning flesh never really leaves me completely, eero, but I probably can't expect it to. It's better when you're here, though. I'll be just fine if you stay with me," he murmured warmly at the end, kissing at his jaw serenely, in just the way a Heero imagined a languishing tabby might and in a way he was silently enraptured by.

"But you still can't get the memory out of your mind, can you?" he whispered, rubbing his fingertips soothingly over the back of the ex-criminal's hands.

"No," he sighed heavily, falling into a silence while he rested his head on Heero's shoulder. For a while, he didn't say anything, and they both just thrived on the heat and serenity of their bodies pressed against each other, contrasted by the lonely thoughts that still sometimes plagued them both of when they had been apart. Finally, he felt Duo draw in another deep breath and sigh it out, closing his eyes while he spoke quietly. "But I'll never be perfect again, though. No matter how much you try to heal me, traveler, there'll always be a few cracks, a few blemishes that won't wipe clean. There'll always be a scar left there, in my mind." Heero felt him squeeze around him grievously.

"The day doesn't go by that I don't think of my family and their murders, that my scar of my _ikkunnoi_ doesn't ache a little." He snorted quietly against Heero's back, burying his face between his shoulder blades, craving the unconditional comfort from him. "I reopen the wounds every day—and poor you, I depend on you to close them every night."

"It a job I definitely don't mind, though," he whispered reverently in return, relishing whatever little happiness he could draw out of Duo to counteract the sorrow in his voice. He did, chuckling with his breath ghosting over his back, and reclaimed his original position, nuzzling against his shoulder and trying to find sleep again. But a second later the silence returned, and Heero could feel the worried expression on the one-eared Neko's face. He turned over on the cot, unfortunately having to break free of the arms wrapped around him, but had the pleasure of being able to put his arms around Duo. Those violet eyes watched him, blinking heavily, and for a second, Heero hesitated and just stared back.

"If it's what you really want, Duo, do it. I'd be more than happy to take him in with us," he said, his deep blue eyes scanning the bohemian's face.

Duo sighed, knowing that Heero could read what was on his mind almost as clearly as if he had spoken it from his lips, and hesitated uncertainly. "I didn't know if you'd want to adopt a kid or anything like that, Heero. I mean, we've only been married for eight months and if you're not comfortable with having kids of any kind, that's fine, I mean, I was just thinking about it. Doesn't mean it's in print already or that it's anything I'm heartset on getting, or anything. I'm not trying to guilt-trip you into it, Heero."

"No," he agreed with an amused smirk, "you're too busy trying to guilt trip yourself _out_ of it." A sublime smile consumed his face as he found Duo's hand somewhere beneath the flimsy blanket they shared and intertwined their fingers firmly. "But it's important to you Duo, and I said I'd take my share, so no matter what it is, I'll carry it. Can't go back on that word, otherwise I'd be a liar, and I know from personal experience how much you hate those," he added with a sly twist to his smile. "I was so afraid I'd lost you and my hope for new life been laid to rest with you that I felt like I had become the walking dead. We're both running on our second chances, so I think the least we can do is give Quatre his own second chance. He deserves it just as much as you, as any of us, and if we don't give it to him, he may not get it. That's something I've learned well. Besides, he really seems to like you."

"You really mean that?" It took a moment for the ecstatic expression to rise out of Duo's mild surprise and make his already glowing smile seem almost unbearably thrilled, but it happened. He kissed Heero again, something he never could find himself tiring off, and pulled back with a breathless grin, cradling the young Japanese man's face in both his hands, his delight practically purring in his throat. "You beautiful bastard, you," he drawled happily. "You know, that night in the gypsy tent when I first met you, I didn't think you were capable of producing more than three or four sentences at once, let alone ones of passion."

Heero's own smile flashed in return. Not even a year ago, such an expression would have been an impossibility; even an urge to do so would have swallowed wholly by the black chasm in his life that generally prevented him from doing so. There would have been no smile on the Peacecraft's daughter's face that would have inspired such a reaction, nor a joke or beautiful verse that would have pierced the thick shell of impassivity that he'd built up over the years, unwitting to the suffocation it would provide. There was nothing that had gotten through to him save the tragic violence and beauty of the con man who'd come to him by first robbing (and seducing) him blind. How strange it was to think, sometimes, it'd taken a fellow lost soul to find solid ground again and put a song in his heart.

_And even though the moment passed me by _

_I still can't turn away _

_Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose_

_Get tossed along the way_

_And letters that you never meant to send_

_Get lost or thrown away_

"I didn't think you were capable of giving me a sincere smile. But luckily, I've been disproved."

"And so have I," Duo purred, leaning in closer. "And I like it that way."

_And now we're grown up orphans _

_That never knew their names_

_We don't belong to no one_

_That's a shame_

Far from the carnival where the whole endeavor of Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy had begun, far from the most familiar places they had seen, something that had been started crept a little closer to its rightful and most apropos conclusion, but they still remained somewhere in the journey, for the end for them would not come just yet. Things had a fighting chance this time in the world, so the world seemed all the better. The world was all the better, in a way.

_But if you could hide beside me_

_Maybe for a while _

_And I won't tell no one your name _

_I won't tell em your name_

Some time later, a soft and tender voice raised in the shadows in which two young bodies slept close. "You asked me once if you had changed for the better, remember, traveler?"

"Yeah. I remember."

"Is that how you still feel?"

In the darkness of the sleeping night, the silence could hear the rich laugh of the young man rolling out as he pulled closer to his lover. "The real question is—How could have opening up my horizons been bad?"

_Fin_

* * *

Soundtrack

**"Animal" **

**"Star Me Kitten" **

**"What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" **

**"Nightswimming"**

R.E.M.

**"Miss You"**

**"Rock and a Hard Place" **

**"Harlem Shuffle"**

The Rolling Stones

**"Twentysomething"**

**"All at Sea"**

Jamie Cullum

**"The Long and Winding Road" **

**"Help!" **

The Beatles

**"Name"**

Goo Goo Dolls

**"Bohemian Rhapsody" **

Queen

**"Float"**

Bush

**"Spies"**

Coldplay

**"Evil-Hearted You"**

The Pixies

**"Lithium" **

Nirvana

**"Moscas En La Casa"**

Shakira

**"Walk Tall" **

John Mellencamp

**"Big-Eyed Fish"**

Dave Matthews Band

**"Can't Do a Thing" **

Chris Issak

**"Boulevard of Broken Dreams" **

Green Day

* * *

Author's Note

Before the nostalgia-in-advance strikes me, I think it's time for the last words I'll write of "The One-Eared Neko." As someone requested, I'll first lay down the status of the other stories I'm working on. Keep in mind, even if I say that I've let go of a story, that might not be necessarily true. If it really deserves to be written, I just might pick it up again, so don't be too disappoint if I do. Anyway, here we go.

"Pedigree," will definitely be written, though I don't know when I'll begin writing it. You can be sure, if the last chapters of Neko were any indication, the continuation is going to be one hell of a long story. The contest that first spurred me on to write this story ended months ago and only required 25,000 words. I'm currently at roughly 140,000. Well, the story had to be told! Anyway, I should get on with this.

"My Shinigami, My Hamburger" is most definitely _not_ over with! You of all people should know you can't kill a God of Death, especially not one as adorable as Shini! This is a long-running story with many arcs in planning. In fact, as soon as I finish posting this and give my poor brain that's been squeezed like a orange for the last few year trying to get his story down the best I could a break, I'll be right back on finishing the first arc of MSMH. It's going to be my on-going tribute to the Gundam Wing fandom, so don't worry if your concerned about me dropping it anytime soon.

"Billiard Brats" is really out on a wire. It didn't have as many readers, but that's not the reason I stopped updating it for a considerable amount of time. Like ".45 Colt War", it was written on this whim I had and now it's impossible to get back the same feel of writing I had. But that doesn't mean its dead. I really do want it to be finished, but I think I may end up doing a re-write later on. So, mark that one as on hiatus.

And, last but definitely not the least, "Twelve."

"Twelve" is a very delicate situation. I love the story, I really do. I relish the tension between Heero and Duo and the way they can be so complementary of each other without even trying, practically made for each other, and still unable to see it or accept it without causing a world of trouble. But it's a story that's just as, if not, emotional and mentally draining to do well. And I've kind of gotten out of the rhythm of writing it, which is essential to me. The way I write well is to find a certain rhythm to a story and immerse myself so much that it's like I'm not really writing, I'm just imagining the story and putting it down. I know it sounds weird, but that's the way it works for me. I have to get so familiar with the characters and so deep into their psyche that I don't even know that I'm there to get a certain flow to my words. I feel like I've lost that for Twelve, or just misplaced it. I desperately want to continue it, but I'm not sure how able I am at the moment. I feel ready to take a year's vacation, sleeping in the mountains somewhere. And currently I've got a few short stories that itching to get out while they have the chance, before I get involved in another big project. "Twelve" is not dead by any means, but I don't know when I'll be able to finish it, if it at all. I apologize wholeheartedly to all those who were waiting for me to update and all those I've disappointed by not doing so. Like I said, maybe I'll get another surge to write, but right now I'm feeling ready to drop. My motto is to take things as you go along, so don't loose hope for an update. I know, I know, I suck and I probably haven't given anyone a clear answer like they wanted—but I really mean that exhaustion thing. I've got my mother's bad back and a tendency to get a little too emotionally involved in things I start and get drained (Even in gym class. Think "Teen Spirit" Heero Yuy on the lacrosse field, but with less upperbody strength, minus the killing record, and plus one very Irish temper). Oh, and I just noticed this. I meant the title of "Twelve" as in the twelve days of Christmas, but if you put Heero and Duo's numbers side by side you get 12. I only noticed that a little while ago. Is that sad? Anyhoo

Thank you Animegoil, Memeal, Link Worshiper, ZmajGoddess, Silver Cateyes, Kichiko, Rashalla Entalio, Nikkler, Pia Bartolini, Oliversgurl, ahanchan, Chibi Neko Sakura, White Raven6, Shinko Ryusei, Trio Wing, Taylor Mercury, gatogirl1, Dark Sadistic Angel, Genki-Rei-Chan, NeNa, Bane's Desire, Dyna D, Jinn, aspiring author, Shitae Tenshi, Omega Night, priscel, Esukafruone, Shallow Syn, muchacha, Ibuki, Azrael121, Malik Fan 03, jess-eklom, Meliza Mac and all my other readers for all the continuous support you guys have given me and this story. You really inspired me to continue and I can't love you guys more for it. Thank you again, and to repay you for all your support, I think I'll have to write you an even better one!

Ciao.

Kaitsurinu


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